Spark
by pbswimmer
Summary: Spark of life...spark of hope...spark of love. Season 5, following The Final Break. Michael lives! But the FBI wants him behind bars. The bros fight for freedom as Michael and Sara fight for a future together. Nothing's ever easy for the beleaguered genius. Maybe he'll finally find peace?
1. Power Outage

Prison Break fans! It's the best TV show ever, right? I'm so grateful to this show's brilliance because it inspired me to start writing fan fiction in 2007, and I haven't stopped writing since. Prison Break grabbed me and never let me go. I wrote this story, _Spark_ , in 2009 to create a happy ending. Since then, I've published six novels. I'll do my best to bludgeon the adverb abuse and verbosity that characterized my early writing. Hope you enjoy! ~Jen

Chapter One: Power Outage

His senses alive and heartbeat on overdrive, Agent Todd Wheatley grinned at the top of the stairs. _I got ya this time, Scofield_. He plunged into the darkness with two SWAT officers charging behind him. The officers' flashlights, affixed to their rifles, cast an eerie glow bouncing off the stairwell. The three men hustled down, driven by their desire to thwart yet another escape masterminded by Michael Scofield. No way he'd elude the FBI yet again.

Once they arrived at the dank basement control room, the moving rifle guide-lights were no longer the only source of illumination. Flashes of electricity sparked at random intervals in the middle of the room. Wheatley paused when he noticed one cable dangling from the electric generator box, twitching with each jolt of surging current. A live wire? The officers passed him and moved into the room.

"Man down!" one officer cried.

Wheatley dashed forward and stopped short at the tall body sprawled on his back, one leg tucked under, arms akimbo. His eyes trailed up from the soft-soled shoes to the dark blue jeans to the army-green jacket, finally landing on the beatific face. The man's eyes were closed, highlighting the shadow of long eyelashes in the sparking light. The ghost of serenity contrasted with the deep copper of blood spilling from one nostril.

Michael Scofield was dead.

Wheatley had expected the genius's death would provide a sense of accomplishment, but he felt only sadness. A few exhilarating days of trying to keep up with Scofield had ended. The thrilling game of cat and mouse had collapsed, now that the mouse, attempting to free the precious cheese, had been ensnared in the trap. And where was that cheese? There was no sign of Tancredi anywhere.

"Get some COs down here!" Wheatley barked into the radio. "We're below the chapel." He glared at one of the SWAT officers. "Do a recon of every exit."

"Yes, sir." The younger officer turned, but then froze in place. His eyes, along with Wheatley's, riveted on the man's foot.

"Did he just move?" Wheatley couldn't tear his eyes from the body.

"Yeah."

"Postmortem twitches," the older officer, Spitzer, supplied with a gruesome grin. "Quite common. Seen 'em before in corpses, especially after getting fried by electricity." He chuckled. "Looks like he's still got some juice left."

A queasy shudder pressed up Wheatley's throat. "Find me the exits!"

When they scurried off, taking their flashlights with them, he was alone with Scofield's body. Dim shafts of moonlight filtered through the small barred windows.

Sighing, he knelt and hovered over one arm, noticing for the first time spots of mottled blackness on Scofield's skin. He grasped one hand, turning it over and scrutinizing what appeared to be electric burns. Why had he electrocuted himself? Had it been an accident? Wheatley shook his head. From what he'd learned about Scofield's precise methodology, the man simply didn't allow accidents.

The burns seemed superficial, unlikely to have killed him. Wheatley knew the heart and the brain were most vulnerable when it came to death by electric chair. Had Scofield's heart or brain succumbed to electrocution?

His brain was undoubtedly strong, as evidenced by the incredible Fox River escape. Wheatley had memorized every detail once he'd arrested Tancredi. Hell, Scofield had already outsmarted him with that fake parachute landing just five minutes ago. And his heart—could Scofield's heart have withstood such intense voltage? Wheatley's mouth tightened as he guessed Scofield had sacrificed himself so his wife could go free. His heart must have been strong, too.

He heard the rattle of a door handle, followed by, "This exit's locked!"

"What'd you do, Mr. Scofield?" He gazed at the tranquil face. "Did you break out your wife before you died?"

With a twitch, Scofield gasped, "Sara."

Wheatley's jaw unhinged, and he stared at Scofield, unblinking, for several moments. He looked up. "Spitzer! How common is it for the corpse to speak?"


	2. We're Free

Chapter Two: We're Free

Lincoln stood by the DVD player awaiting Sara's go-ahead. "You ready?"

She glanced at the disc he clutched. _I'll never be ready._ Her hands darted to her belly to cradle the precious cargo nestled inside. This was where _he'd_ held her last, when he'd promised, " _I_ am _coming with you_." She could almost feel his burning fingerprints still lingering on her taut skin—skin that would stretch and expand soon. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.

Lincoln frowned, wishing she'd refused to watch. Then he could've said, " _Yeah, you're not ready—that's okay. You've been through way too much in the past couple of days. We'll watch it later."_ He could've pretended _she_ was the one balking at hearing Michael's last words. But Sara was too brave to turn away now. Her unflinching courage was the driving force allowing a prisoner like Michael Scofield into her heart. And now the two people closest to that ex-con were about to hear his goodbyes.

Riding the Atlantic's rollicking waves, Lincoln steadied his hand on the yacht console and stuck the disc in the drive. As he crossed in front of Sara to sit down, he cringed at the yellow bruises blooming on her cheek. No wonder Michael had looked sick after his first visit to Miami-Dade Penitentiary.

He sucked in a breath and clicked the remote. His lean brother entered the frame, sitting in front of the camera with a somber expression and a nervous flapping of his army-green jacket. As soon as Lincoln heard his trembling voice, his gut clenched.

 _Well if you're watching this, I'm glad, because it means you're safe . . . and that's all I ever wanted._

Lincoln closed his eyes. This had all started with Michael trying to keep him safe, having to act like the big brother to his big brother. What if Lincoln hadn't been such a colossal fuck-up? Michael would still be alive right now. Lincoln should've been the one electrocuted, not his self-sacrificing brother.

Michael looked down for a moment before continuing. _I wish I could be there with you, but as you probably know now, I wouldn't have had much time anyway . . . so I made my choice and . . ._ He shook his head a few times, _I don't regret it_.

Well, Sara regretted it. As she stroked her tightening throat, regret flooded her like an ocean wave crashing over the yacht. They could've fought this together! Sure, there was a tumor in Michael's temporal lobe, but she could've gotten him treatment. She would've done a better job than the company had, anyway. Of course they hadn't removed the tumor as promised. Unlike Lincoln's blind trust in the General, Michael had known never to trust the company, and he'd been right once again.

Sara's bitterness shifted into sadness once Michael continued: _Not too long from now, there's going to be another little Scofield running around._ Oh God, he'd never get to meet his baby! The shock of that realization ripped into her, filled her eyes with tears. What cruel twist would light up an expectant father, only to let death shroud him before meeting his unborn child?

She got the sense Michael would stop speaking soon, and her fingers shook as they hovered over her mouth. Michael's eyes seared into her. _You know, we spend so much of our lives not saying the things we want to say, the things we should say . . ._ Sara winced. She wished she'd said those things to her mother and father, but now they were dead. Just like Michael. But _he_ was capitalizing on this chance to speak. _I want to say that I love you both, very much._

 _And I want you to promise me that you're going to tell my child . . ._ He looked away, his fight against tears obvious. _. . . that you're going to tell my child how much they are loved every day, and remind them how lucky they are, to be free, because we are; we're free now. Finally._ Michael sniffed. _We're free._

Once the recorded message ended, Lincoln bolted up. "But we're _not_ free!" He glared at Sara, his face scarlet and his nostrils flaring. His fists clenched at his side. "We're not free! Michael's dead and you're on the run from the police! Is that _free?"_ He cocked his arm back and whipped the remote across the cabin.

Sara watched with sick fascination as the remote careened into the pine wall. The force of his throw shattered the device, sending batteries and metal parts tumbling to the floor.

"I'm the only one who's fucking free!" he moaned. "The one who deserves it the least!"

Through her blurry tears, Sara looked up at the hulking form of the big brother, and watched his chest rise and fall. Her voice quivered. "It's wonderful you're free—it means everything to Michael. You meant so much to him."

"Yeah? Then why didn't he even say goodbye? He said goodbye to _you!_ All I got was a god-damn recorded message. I didn't get a goodbye."

"Lincoln," she cried.

He looked down, defeated, "He didn't even say goodbye."

She stood and clasped his granite biceps, guiding him back to the sofa where he collapsed.

"I can't do this," he mumbled through clenched teeth. "Can't live if he's dead. It's not right."

"Shh." Sara sat next to him and sniffed. She wished she could make him feel better, but she couldn't stop crying herself. "You heard what he said." Again she cradled her womb. "This baby needs an uncle. Michael needs the baby to know their uncle will never be far away."

Lincoln pressed his lips together. "And you're supposed to keep an eye on me." He sighed. "'Cause I have a tendency to get in trouble."

She attempted a smile but failed. Hot tears kept coming.

Lincoln scooped her up, and she let herself melt into the smooth planes of his muscular chest. She couldn't stop weeping. The yacht maintained its southern course as she clung to him. They were free.


	3. Scan

Scan

The CO tightened the screws on the metal helmet, squeezing the underlying sponge. When streams of water slid down Lincoln's sweating face, Michael's heart-rate rocketed. _No!_ _He's innocent!_ But instead of heeding his scream, the CO slipped a black hood over Linc's head. It would be the last time Michael would see the brother who'd provided food, shelter, and origami cranes placed near his pillow. Who would take care of him now?

Veronica's quiet sobs only increased his helplessness. The words choked in his throat: _He's innocent! He's innocent!_ Michael yearned to jump and pound on the glass to beg for a stay of execution. As his arm twitched, a searing pain sparked through his body. He gasped and blinked against the blinding light.

"No—don't move your hands, Mr. Scofield."

He heard a lilting female voice and felt light pressure on his elbow. His eyes stung from tears and brightness, but he had to understand what was happening. His blurred surroundings appeared one-dimensional and strange.

The white figure hovering over him slowly came into focus. Her dark-blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, providing a clear view of her smooth complexion and her big brown eyes, wizened by tiny laugh lines creasing the corners. Her full face and solid frame lent her a sense of presence and strength. She looked too real to be an angel.

"You're at Coral Gables Hospital, Mr. Scofield."

Evidently he hadn't died.

"I'm Dr. Daniels." His eyes shifted down to the badge that read _Karina Daniels, D.O.,_ and back up to her face when she asked, "You were having a nightmare, I presume?"

Still disoriented, he looked to the side, but the movement elicited dizzy hammering inside his head. He closed his eyes to quell the stirrings of nausea.

"You were having a nightmare about your brother? You yelled something about being innocent."

"Don't let him fool you," snapped FBI Agent Todd Wheatley as he marched into the room. "He's certainly not innocent."

A jolt of fear coursed through Michael as the agent crossed into his line of vision. When he flinched, pain blazed up his arms. Fuzzy black spots clouded his vision and twisted his stomach.

"Keep your hands still!" Karina ordered. "I mean it, Mr. Scofield." She turned to the agent, who'd joined her at the side of the hospital bed. "I _told_ you we can't have his wrists cuffed. The burns need to heal."

"I'm hardly letting this escape artist lie here unrestrained!"

Michael looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time the white bandages that wrapped his flesh from fingertips to elbows, with his wrists cuffed to the bed railing. _Now I know I'm not in heaven._ His stomach sank as he realized he was imprisoned once again. Then he inhaled. _Sara_. Was she imprisoned, too?

"Sara," he croaked, his first word since the electrocution. "Did she make it out?"

Todd's eyes narrowed. "No she didn't. We recaptured her right after you crisped yourself."

"No," he moaned. His eyes filled with tears. _I failed._

Todd continued, "And we all know how prison officials treat prisoners who try to escape. Your wife's vulnerable, Scofield. Better start talking if you want her to live. Tell me everything about the escape."

 _Sara's still in danger!_ He thrashed from side to side, jarring his burn wounds. But it wasn't the physical pain that hurt the most. The emotional letdown stung like his foster father's belt. He'd failed to protect his wife and child.

Todd didn't seem to care. "I want to know _everything."_

"Back off, Agent Wheatley," Karina said. "You're agitating my patient, and he needs rest."

"Well, I need answers!"

"You'll get your answers. In the meantime, find an alternative to cuffing his burned wrists. As his treating physician, I won't tolerate this abuse any longer. You've got fifteen minutes— talk to the cops outside, discuss this with your boss, whatever—just find an answer."

Todd shifted his glare from the doctor to the prisoner, whose eyes were squeezed shut with tracks of tears. "Probably won't get much out of him now, anyway." He exhaled and left.

Karina let out a sigh then got busy adding some hydromorphone to Michael's IV. Typically nurses performed this function but jumpy Agent Wheatley had prohibited ancillary personnel from being anywhere near his prisoner.

"This should help you feel better, Mr. Scofield."

"I failed," came his tortured reply. "I failed her."

Karina bit her lip.

His eyes opened and he strained to focus on the harsh reality around him. "Please." He swallowed. "Please add more to my IV. Double the dose. Triple it. Please."

"This med's powerful." She squinted at him. "If I give you more, it could kill you."

He was quiet for several moments. "I know."

Her lips parted as she inhaled. "You thought you'd die, didn't you? When you took hold of those wires in the prison?"

He averted his eyes, and his silence answered for him. Apparently she'd have to order a suicide watch for him. She searched her mind for a way to make him want to live.

She grasped the bedside railing and leaned in closer. "I'm not supposed to tell you this," she whispered. "But Agent Wheatley lied to you."

He whipped his head in her direction, and the reward for his sudden movement was merciless pounding.

"Dr. Tancredi escaped last night. You did it. She's free."

He let out a slow breath, and it was the first time he didn't appear to be in pain.

She smiled. _Damn, he's cute._ But when she looked at the door, her smile faded. Had she just made a horrible decision by telling him the truth? "Don't let on to Wheatley that you know, or you'll have to break me out of prison, too."

She couldn't believe when one corner of his mouth twitched. The smile spread across his mouth until he broke out a full grin. No doubt he was handsome, but when he unleashed his perfect white teeth from the constraints of his perfect plump lips, he dazzled her. "Thank you, Doctor."

When his eyes drooped, Karina could tell the pain medication was taking effect. But she still had an important question to ask: "Are you at risk for suicide, Mr. Scofield?"

He sighed, so delighted Sara and the baby were safe that he couldn't care less about his own life. "There's no need now. I'll be dead soon, anyway."

"Don't think so. We took CT scans while you were out, and the only damage is the second-degree burns on your hands and arms."

"You scanned my brain?" Fatigue laced his voice.

"Of course."

"Then you found the tumor."

Karina recoiled. _"What_ tumor?"


	4. Empty Pockets

Pockets

The calls of seagulls floating through the open window competed with the incessant rumble of pounding surf. Sara closed her eyes as she listened from inside the bungalow, grateful to be on land again.

In the span of three days, Lincoln had navigated their yacht near Puerto Limón, Costa Rica, just up the coast from Panama. True to the city's name, the faint smell of lemons pervaded the ocean breeze. The pleasant citrus scent should have been invigorating, but Sara felt only numbing, unrelenting fatigue.

Stumbling in reverse until the back of her knees brushed up against the bed, she sank down onto the bare mattress. They would need to buy sheets soon, along with other supplies like toothpaste and maybe a hairbrush. Her hand darted up to her matted, stringy hair, surprised by her complete lack of concern for her appearance. There was no one to impress anymore. He was gone.

He'd chosen this destination because of its desolate beaches. He'd probably figured if they had each other, that would be all they needed. Without Michael, however, all she'd found in Puerto Limón was desolation. _When life hands you lemons_ . . . Her nose burned with imminent tears. She was surprised her tear ducts hadn't dried and shriveled up by now. _When life hands you lemons . . . you cry._

Lincoln paced the floor in another room, one hand gripping his cell phone while the other clenched into a fist. This had to be his tenth try to get the damn call to connect.

After some brief exchanges on the yacht about what they'd experienced since the Fox River escape, he and Sara hadn't spoken for over twenty-four hours. It wasn't an intentional cold shoulder on his part. He just had no idea what to say to a crying pregnant woman, the mother of his eventual niece or nephew. He had no idea how to make her feel better. Her never-ending tears had ripped him apart, so he'd avoided her. And she'd seemed all too comfortable with their growing distance.

Finally there was a click in his ear.

"Dad?" LJ's tinny voice sounded a world away.

"Are you okay? I was so worried when you didn't meet us!"

"Yeah, we're fine. Sorry, we couldn't get to Santo Domingo. We're still in Panama."

"Why? What happened?"

"We think we're being followed. But we finally shook him off."

Lincoln bit his lower lip as he exhaled. "Shit. You sure he's gone?"

"We're okay now, promise. Where are you guys?"

"We're in Costa Rica, about thirty miles south of Puerto Limón."

When LJ laughed, Lincoln marveled at the sound.

"Dad, it's not LIME-un. It's Lee-MOAN. It means Lemon Port."

"Some of us didn't take Spanish class, kid."

"I didn't study Spanish in school—Sofia's been teaching me."

"How's she doin'? She taking good care of you?"

There were some muffled sounds and then LJ said, "She said to tell you, ' _Te amo'_."

Lincoln gulped. He didn't need to speak the language to know what that meant. Could he say those words back to her? How _did_ he feel for her? She was one of the sweetest girls he'd met, and he certainly felt protective of her, but beyond that, he was unsure. After everything he had been through, however, he didn't want to mince words. "Tell her, uh, tell her . . . I love her too."

He could imagine LJ grinning as he relayed the message.

"Hey Dad, are you and Uncle Mike coming down here to pick us up?"

Lincoln paled. "No," he choked out, having trouble breathing. "You need to come to us."

"Dad? What's wrong?"

He fought for control. Telling LJ over the phone about his uncle's death didn't seem right. "Nothing—I, we can't leave Sara here alone, not with her being pregnant."

"Sara's _pregnant?_ Uncle Mike must be pretty stoked, huh?"

Every word was like a knife through his gut. Finally he said, "He's over the moon."

"You sound kinda weird—you sure you're okay?"

"Just get here, LJ. I need you here, okay? We're off route thirty-six, just north of mile marker fifty-two, in a yellow house on the beach. Watch your back."

"Dad?" LJ was quiet for a moment. "Is it finally over?"

Lincoln frowned as he grasped the windowsill for support. He looked down. "Yes, son. It's over."

Sara heard Lincoln on the phone, and his deep baritone provided her a modicum of comfort. He must have finally reached LJ. It was hard to believe the feisty sixteen year old, who'd been her partner in captivity in Panama, was now her nephew. As an only child, she'd never been an aunt before. She'd never been a mother either.

Her wandering, tear-filled gaze landed on the small pile of her possessions, clumped on the weathered wooden boards of her bedroom floor. She'd draped her prison-issued crimson-red pants over the briefcase full of money—the General's blood money. She winced as she stood and reached down for the cotton pants. Her ribcage was still sore from the beating administered by the COs. From the pants pocket, she extracted two items.

First she stroked the crude black necklace Gretchen had asked her to give to her daughter. _Emily_ was scribbled on the back of the necklace's charm.

Gretchen had been both her captor and her liberator, and conflicting emotions toward the woman with icy blue eyes and fiery passion consumed Sara. But little Emily—a child who'd grow up without her true mother, just like Sara's baby would never know his or her father—Sara's feelings for Emily were pure and uncomplicated. She'd have to find a way to get the necklace to the girl.

Her heart fluttered when she set down the necklace and focused on the crumpled letter from her pocket. Like she'd done countless times on the yacht, she smoothed out the wrinkled paper and read his precise, diligent handwriting:

 _Dear Sara,_

 _Remember when I taught you about flowers? I wish I was with you now to see you holding one in your hand. I love you and I promise we're going to get through this so we can begin our lives together. I'm meeting with a lawyer tomorrow. I will be working late burning the midnight oil. Don't worry; I'll take a break to eat dinner around 7. Fernando is helping me get through this too. He is anxious as usual to get back to his little dump-ling. That is what he calls his daughter. Any nicknames for our child yet? Just keep holding up and soon we'll be able to forget all of this and finally start our family. Just have faith in me because I have faith in you. –Michael_

She felt a sob work its way up her throat and erupt into a pitiful cry as she clasped the letter to her chest. Where was her faith now? Her faith had coaxed her to leave him at the generator. She'd hustled to the tunnel exit and waited for him to save her from the dangers of prison once again, just like in the Fox River riot. Her faith had made her deny the true meaning of the tender press of his hands sliding down her hair, the resigned expression on his handsome face. He'd been planning his death. He'd been saying goodbye.

 _I_ am _coming with you,_ he'd promised. She rubbed her belly as she added another item to her shopping list: prenatal vitamins.

Panamanian coffee tasted like shit. He hadn't heard from his contact in days. Sunburn scorched the back of his neck. And, the withering heat drained him. Why the fuck get stuck in this Central American hellhole?

But his complaints vanished when he caught a glimpse of the sandy-haired teenager opening the passenger door of a beat-up Chevy. He looked to the driver's side of the car, where sure enough that hot little Hispanic tamale climbed in—Sofia Lugo was her name? And the brat traveling with her was LJ Burrows; he knew it. His eyelids lowered. _Target acquired._


	5. Temporal

5\. Temporal

Michael woke to a jangling noise and a tug on his foot. Peering down his nose, he watched two police officers attach ankle cuffs to the bed's railing before draping the thin chain up his legs to his waist.

"Make sure those chains are nice and tight," came a voice from the left. Michael didn't need to turn his head to know FBI Agent Todd Wheatley had returned to the hospital room.

He submitted to the officers adjusting and maneuvering him to loop the chain around his waist. His wrists were still cuffed and the jarring caused him to wince and gasp, though the pain wasn't quite as intense as before. The medication must have made him drift off during the conversation about his tumor. He could only surmise the CT scan was wrong. Brain tumors didn't just disappear.

"We're removing the handcuffs?" The officer's voice sounded incredulous.

"Yeah," Todd confirmed.

The officers exchanged a look that seemed worried. There was a suspended hush in the air as they slid the cuffs off his bandaged wrists, making Michael shake his head. What precisely did they expect him to do? Vanish in a puff of smoke?

"How we supposed to secure the chain without the cuffs?" the other officer asked.

"Well." Todd sidled up to the bed. "We thought about attaching the chain to a dog collar, you know, one of those collars you can buy at kinky sex stores." He studied Michael's face and seemed disappointed when he didn't react.

As far as Michael cared, they could lock him up in a medieval dungeon—nothing else mattered now that Sara and Lincoln were safe. He floated on a high, knowing he'd protected his wife and unborn child.

"How'd you like an S & M collar, Scofield?" Todd said.

"Sounds like you know the inside of those sex stores rather well, Agent Wheatley."

The police officers shook with suppressed laughter.

Todd's eyes narrowed and he snapped, "Cuff his upper arms to the bed, damn it."

The officers seemed surprised they could fit the cuffs around his biceps. The chains continued jangling until everything was in place, trussing him up so that his arms, waist, and legs were all connected by interlocking chains.

"Thank you, gentlemen." Todd cocked his head toward the door.

The officers got the hint and slunk out of the room.

As he looked at Todd's crumpled business suit and lines of fatigue on his face, Michael noticed something was off with his visual perception, but he couldn't place it. Never mind—he had to steel himself for the agent's questions regardless. Now that Sara and Lincoln were safe, there was nothing else he wanted, providing him a clear upper hand in their impending negotiations. He almost felt sorry for the man.

"Finally we have a chance to talk, Scofield. You're lucky all your stalling hasn't resulted in your wife being injured in prison. Yet."

Crystal eyes narrowed. "Thought you refused to believe Sara's life was in danger."

"That was before she attempted to escape. The COs are pissed with her now, and they want revenge."

Michael frowned. "You didn't seem to care when they beat her up the first time."

Todd's eyes widened. "The officers hit Sara? Do you have evidence of this?"

Michael scowled and remained silent.

"What do you think they'll do with _you_ when you go back inside?" Todd shook his head. "It won't be pretty."

 _Pretty_. Michael thought of T-Bag with his lewdly roaming black eyes and his slow southern drawl. He'd heard Theodore had ended up back in Fox River, and Michael would have to do everything in his power not to join him. There'd be no Lincoln or John Abruzzi to protect him from the rapist and his cronies this time.

"I assume Lincoln Burrows, Fernando Sucre, and Alex Mahone were your accomplices in this escape?"

How stupid did he think he was? "You assume wrong. I acted alone."

Todd invaded Michael's personal space. _"Somebody_ helped you. How the hell did you get inside those walls?"

Michael hesitated. On the one hand, he was finished with prison breaks so there'd be no need to protect his trusty hide-under-the-car technique, which had worked both in Sona and in Miami-Dade Penitentiary. On the other hand, he had no desire to assist this cruel man who'd lied to him about Sara's escape.

Todd's grip tightened on the bed railing. "Sara's life is just ticking away, the longer you withhold information from us."

Michael exhaled. "As if you'd try to protect her. No matter what I tell you, she's a dead woman. Don't you realize Jonathan Krantz put out a one-hundred thousand dollar hit on her?"

"You're still stalling, Scofield. Not only will your wife pay the consequences for your silence, but you will too. I'll be sure to let the judge know about your lack of cooperation at your sentencing hearing."

Michael looked down. He wished he was done with cells, shackles, handcuffs. His throat burned with the desire to join Sara on that pristine white Costa Rican beach . . . holding her, kissing her, running his hands through her auburn hair . . . but it wasn't to be. He'd made his choice, and he didn't regret it. Sara was a wanted woman—wanted not only by him, but also by the authorities—and therefore she'd never be able to visit him in prison. He'd probably never get to see his child. Yet, everything was somehow perfect, just how he had wanted it. He mumbled, "Go ahead. Don't really care what happens to me."

When Todd finally spoke, his voice was softer. "You give me some concrete facts about the escape, and I'll make sure your wife goes to Ad Seg."

"Alright." He had to make it look like he still believed Sara was in prison. "My initial plan was to break Sara out using the blind spot in the camera coverage." He glared at Todd. "Until Alex busted up the plan by sharing it with you."

Todd's jaw dropped. "You knew? You knew Mahone told me?" He ignored the ring of his cell phone. "But you kept confiding in Mahone after that."

"Alex and I have been through a lot together," Michael said. His voice lowered. "He lost his son." _Thank God my child's safe!_ "I knew that, in the end, I could trust him." A sad smile graced his lips, remembering David Apolskis. Just like with Alex, Michael had counted on Tweener to do the right thing in the end, and both men had delivered.

Dr. Karina Daniels yawned as she entered the room. "I told you to page me when Mr. Scofield woke up."

"I'm not a damn nurse," Todd said. "I did free his wrists, though. Now we have the country's most notorious escape artist's hands unrestrained, thanks to you."

"Good, because it's time to change the dressings on his wounds."

"But I'm not done questioning him."

"That's fine, you can stay. Though you probably don't want to see the burns. They're rather unsightly."

Todd stepped back from the bed as she prepared a warm-water basin. When his cell phone began ringing once more, his eyes darted to the exit. "I-I-I gotta take this call."

After he left, Michael looked up at Karina. "Thanks for getting rid of him."

She brought over the basin and pushed up the y-cuff chain to rest it on his belly. "I wasn't making that up about the burns, Mr. Scofield."

"Please call me Michael."

That request seemed to disconcert her, and she paused before guiding his hands into the water.

He clenched his teeth against the slices of pain shooting up his arm.

She watched him try to fight through the pain. "These burns are serious. You'll likely have scars."

He nodded.

"Which doesn't really seem to bother you?"

"Don't you understand?" His gaze swept across the room, then landed on her. "This is all bonus for me. Sara and Linc are safe—that's all I ever wanted. I was supposed to die back there, and now I'm operating on borrowed time. They can't hurt me anymore."

"You don't care if you return to prison?"

He gave a half-smile. "It's where I belong." Remorse pressed up his throat. "I've hurt many people."

Karina blinked down at him. She gestured to the loosening bandages. "I guess the scars are more war wounds to add to your collection. You've been burned already, on your back. Your entire torso's scarred from apparent tattoo removal. And, you're missing two toes."

"Sounds like you performed a complete physical while I was unconscious." He appreciated the change of subject. "I guess I can't hide much, in this revealing hospital gown."

He caught her blushing before she pretended to study his hands.

"Did you take a look at the brain scans again?"

She glanced up. "I already told you there's no tumor on your hypothalamus!"

"Look again—it can't just go away."

"I know the tumor's not there, because I paid special attention to the scans of your temporal lobe, where your hypothalamus is located."

"Why?"

"The temporal lobe's at the base of your brain, and I thought any electrical current might travel up your spine and hit there first. The lobe was clear, though." She drew the bandages away from his burned skin, but Michael was too riveted to feel much pain.

"I was thinking more about this a few hours ago," she explained, "before falling asleep in the on-call room." She paused. "I think the electrical current eradicated the tumor."

"Is that possible?" he asked, dumbfounded. "I mean, has it ever happened before?"

"Not to my knowledge, but you can bet I'll do a thorough lit search when I get the chance." Her cheeks pinked, seeming excited by the medical discovery. "Something stopped that current from destroying your brain, and I think the tumor's the prime suspect."

"You're saying the tumor _saved_ me?"

"Quite possibly."

He absorbed that wild theory in silence for a few moments. However, when Karina began ablating the burns, he couldn't stay silent anymore. He panted with painful breaths and closed his eyes to brace himself against the throbbing torture of the treatment. Sweat dribbled down his face.

After a minute or two, Karina asked, "Need a break?"

"No," he choked out, clenching his jaw. He had wanted this. He deserved this.

Agent Wheatley strode back in the room. He held aloft his cell phone and looked directly into Michael's suffering blue eyes. "Well _that_ was an interesting call. Someone you know has been shot down in Panama."


	6. Shatter

6\. Shatter

After finishing the call with his son, Lincoln sighed as he collapsed back into the sofa. LJ couldn't get here soon enough. It had been too long—over three years—since they'd been together as father and son… _really_ together. They needed to be free not only of prison but also of disappointments and broken promises. He'd been a horrible father, and he planned to start rectifying past mistakes once they reunited.

He glanced up and found Sara watching him from the hallway. She'd stopped crying, thank God, but her gaunt face and slumped shoulders made her look like a wilted flower.

"Did you get LJ?"

"Yeah." He didn't want her to keel over so he thumped the cushion next to him. As she crossed the room, he said, "He and Sofia are on their way."

She sat and offered a sad smile. "You must be so excited to see them."

It didn't seem fair he'd see Sofia and LJ soon, yet Sara would never reunite with her husband. An awkward silence blanketed them, finally broken by Sara.

"I suppose LJ will freak out when he sees my head still attached to my body."

Lincoln chuckled. "That's right. He hasn't seen you since Panama, huh?"

"But he knows I'm alive, right?"

"Of course—I told him the second we found you at that Bruce guy's house. I called LJ when you and Michael were in the other room, that night when . . ."

As his voice faded, Sara finished his sentence: _When Michael and I made love for the first time . . . when we conceived our baby, most likely._

He clasped her wrist, and the solid strength of his hold made her almost well up in tears again. He said, "He would've made a great dad."

The tightness of her throat made responding impossible.

"I've screwed up being a dad to LJ more times than I can count, but Michael—he'd be different. He'd be determined to do things better. Better than our dad, at least."

Sara forced herself to breathe. "He was mad at your father for leaving?"

Lincoln rubbed his jaw as he gazed out the picture window to the sea. "I've never seen him so mad." He remembered the heat of the Arizona desert undulating around Michael as he spat the words at their father: _"Six months. Six months you left me in that place."_

Lincoln shook his head. "He was furious with Dad for leaving him in there."

"Leaving him in there?"

"The foster home." He caught a questioning look in her eyes. "He didn't tell you?" He thought for a moment, then clutched his head in his hands. "Of course he didn't tell you. He didn't want anyone to know—he was too ashamed."

Sara's voice gentled. "What're you talking about, Lincoln?"

He lowered his hands, clenched his fists, and exhaled. "When I was in juvie, uh, Michael, he was in foster care. His foster dad . . . he abused Michael."

"Oh," she cried. She pressed her palm over her mouth. "So much pain. He had so much pain in his life." She wrapped her arms around her belly, her only remaining connection to him. "So much pain. And for what? So he could die sacrificing himself for me?"

Lincoln thought the same thing. _It all started when he sacrificed himself for_ me. The longing blended in with lingering fury toward his self-sacrificing brother. _Selfless bastard_. _How dare you die saving us._

~~ o*o ~~

"How do you stand it?" LJ asked from the passenger seat. "The radio _sucks_ down here. If I hear one more Selena song, I'll shoot myself."

Sofia smiled. "You don't know good music when you hear it." She'd noticed the closer they got to Lincoln, the edgier LJ became. Now that they neared the Costa Rican border, he was a commercial for ADHD medication.

"Let's stop and get gas before the border." She eased the vehicle into a dusty station off the two-lane highway and pulled up to a pump.

LJ leapt out and did the honors as he dreamed of gassing up his own car one day.

Several minutes later, neither noticed a black car roll past the station. Its driver drifted to the shoulder of the road before stopping and backing up.

The driver pulled out his cell phone. He'd left countless messages with the answering service—messages that hadn't been returned—yet he knew if he didn't check in then the General would be pissed. And being the target of the General's wrath was not a mistake he intended to repeat. To his surprise, this time a woman answered.

"Uh, this is Bolo." He tried to hide his Filipino accent. "I got the boy and the woman. I bet they'll lead me to Burrows—"

"Shut up!" the voice hissed. "This line's probably tapped."

"What? Who the hell are you? I have a message for the General."

"Where the hell _you_ been? The General's in prison!"

Bolo inhaled. "I've been out of contact, on assignment. What happened?"

"It's Scofield. He got the General arrested. The feds are all over us now. Stay out of the US, unless _you_ want to get arrested too."

"But my wife—"

The line went dead. Bolo felt beads of sweat slide down his spine. Just like that, the company had disintegrated? He couldn't return to the states, to his wife? How the fuck had one man taken down a massive multi-national company, destroying his life in the process?

From the corner of his eye he saw the woman and the boy enter the convenience store. They laughed as they pushed each other inside. " _Ja ja ja_ ," he mocked. He closed his hand over his firearm.

~~ o*o ~~

"Not _every_ American band's named after food." LJ smirked as he jostled Sofia into the convenience store.

"Sí, what about the Black Eyed Peas? Or M & M?"

"It's Eminem, Sofs—not the candy."

She rolled her eyes. "Latin music's still better." She grabbed a couple of bottled waters from the refrigerated section. LJ strolled to a bank of glass windows at the front of the store to check out the limited reading selection. He knew his pedestrian Spanish would make it difficult to read one of the local magazines, but pictures needed no translation. His uncle's mug shot staring at him from the front page of a newspaper made him gasp.

He made out the headline of the news story. "Oh, my God."

"What is it?" Sofia asked as she sidled up to him.

"It's Uncle Mike—but wait, he can't be in a Miami prison—he's with my dad!" When he leaned down to scoop up the paper from the bottom shelf, a deafening shattering exploded above. He felt shards of glass rain down on his shoulders as he heard a thump on the floor behind him. Disoriented, he spun around to find Sofia sprawled on her back. She clutched her collarbone, and his throat squeezed when he noticed blood spurting from underneath her fingers.

"Sofia!" He bent down to apply pressure on the wound.

Her eyes were wide and terrified.

"No!" A squeal of tires outside competed with the pounding in his brain. "Please somebody, help us!"

~~ o*o ~~

Lincoln frowned when the ringing phone forced him to pause his chicken grilling duties. Sara hadn't eaten much at all, and he wanted her to get a good dinner tonight. "Yeah?"

"Dad?"

The sobs in his son's voice stopped his heart. "What's wrong?"

"S-S-Sofia." It seemed he could barely speak through his tears. "She's been shot."

"What the fuck?"

"Come, come get me, Dad. Please. C-C-Come get me."

The muscles lining his jaw rippled. "I'll be right there, son."


	7. Confession

7\. Confession

Michael felt the staccato thumping of his heart. _"Who_ was shot?"

"Lincoln Burrows Junior was traveling—" Todd began.

"Not LJ!" Michael said.

". . . with a Ms. Sofia Lugo north of Changuinola, Panama." Todd paused. "Ms. Lugo was shot."

Michael felt guilty for the relief that coursed through him. "And LJ? How's LJ?"

"He seems to be unharmed."

"Is she in stable condition?" Karina asked. "Ms. Lugo?"

Todd's mouth tightened. "She's in critical condition."

 _Linc._ Michael exhaled. _Not another one_. He remembered Veronica taking him in, wet from the rain—he must have only been ten or so. She'd towel-dried his hair and had given him warm clothes. She'd been a safe haven to him after what he'd endured on Pershing Avenue.

 _Veronica cradled his face. "The bruises are almost gone."_

 _Michael hoped she'd drop it._

 _Her voice was gentle. "You want to tell me what happened?"_

 _He shook his head._

" _Lincoln still has more time in juvie. I can't keep you here—my dad's going to find out. You have to go back."_

" _No," he whimpered, "Don't make me go back. I'll keep hiding in your room when your dad's home. I'll be quiet."_

" _He can't find out you're here, or I'll be in trouble." Her grey eyes widened. "My dad can't find out."_

"Who shot Ms. Lugo?" Karina asked, pulling Michael back to the room. This was a question _he_ should've asked, and he scolded himself for not paying closer attention.

"We don't know yet," Todd said.

Michael shook his head. "It was the company."

"Ah, yes," Todd scoffed, "The ubiquitous _company_. Mysterious people you conveniently blame for your own crimes."

"Are you _blind?"_ Michael glared at him. "Didn't you see Paul Kellerman's testimony in Sara's trial? The case that's building against Jonathan Krantz? The deaths of Veronica Donovan, Lisa Rix, Frank Tancredi, and so many more?" Michael's thoughts drifted to Tweener, Haywire, and his own father, and he felt the collective grief of their losses as well. "What else do you need?"

"And what about the deaths of Charles Westmoreland, William Kim, and Dr. Gudat? Those are only the ones we know you had a hand in killing. How many more are there, Scofield?"

Michael bowed his head. Agent Wheatley had forgotten to add Sammy and Seth to the list of dead men. The men whose blood stained his hands.

The shrill ring of Todd's cell phone echoed in the small room, and the agent glared at him before stepping out to take the call.

Karina reached for some gauze, which she wrapped over the burned skin of Michael's hands and forearms.

He offered no resistance. He hissed a couple of times, but he didn't look up.

"LJ's your nephew?"

He nodded.

"How old is he?"

"Sixteen."

"He's probably a handful, then. I have a fifteen-year-old, and he tests me at every turn."

"You do?" Michael's eyes drifted to her naked ring finger.

"Uh. . . His father's not around anymore."

Not knowing what to say, Michael simply stared at her.

After a beat, she said, "He died."

"I'm sorry." He wasn't sure if he could discuss another death.

"It was over twelve years ago." She looked away then plastered on a smile. "I've moved on."

He studied her. "Did he die in a fire?"

Karina's eyes flew open. "How'd you know that?"

"I wondered what'd motivate you to work with burn victims." He sighed. "Must take a special person to deal with so much pain."

Her hand trembled as she tucked a strand of dark-blond hair behind her ear. "Are you always this perceptive, Mr. Scofield?"

He bit his lip, wondering why he'd asked such an invasive question. There just seemed to be something easy and comforting about her. She was smart, warm, and fiery. Being cared for by a female doctor, when he was at his most defenseless, reminded him of those days in the Fox River infirmary—the days he'd fallen in love. His heart ached for Sara.

"I'm sorry I pried," he said. "Sometimes I can't help myself. Have you, uh, ever heard of LLI?"

She shook her head.

"Low Latent Inhibition. It's a way of seeing the world. My brain doesn't filter out incoming stimuli, so I see pretty much everything."

"So you _are_ always this perceptive."

He blushed.

"Sounds overwhelming to see _everything."_

 _Exactly._

"What's it like?"

"Well, take that pen for example." He nodded at the ball-point on the counter. "Most people just see the barrel shell, the point, and the cap, but I see . . ." He squinted at the pen as he felt a flicker of fear in his belly. ". . . I see the um, the metal ball situated in the, the socket, right under the ink reservoir . . ."

"What is it, Michael?"

He couldn't rub his eyes with his bandaged hands. He swallowed, then shrugged. "Just tired, I guess. Worried about LJ."

Her lips pressed together. "Children can do that to you—make you worried. Even when they're not your own children."

Michael closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillow. A stab of longing pierced his heart. "I'm going to have my own child soon." His eyes fluttered open to find the doctor staring at him. "Sara's pregnant."

Her nods picked up speed. Then she frowned.

"Michael? Agent Wheatley told about the backpack full of tools they found in the prison chapel. I assume that's your backpack?"

He wondered where she was going with this.

"There was a pair of rubber gloves in the backpack." She chewed on her lip. "Why didn't you wear them when you crossed the wires?"

His mouth set into a tight line. Who was perceptive now? He sat in silence for several moments.

"It was the tumor." He glanced down at his bandaged hands. "I didn't want Linc and Sara to have to watch me die a slow, painful death." He sighed. "They've both been through too much already."

"Guess you don't have to worry about the tumor anymore."

He let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah. Now the only roadblock's a long prison stretch."

There was a bustling at the door, then four men crowded the small space: Agent Wheatley, two uniformed police officers, and a medium-height brown-eyed man. The man's black hair, graying at the temples, along with his leather briefcase, lent him a distinguished air.

Todd pointed at him. "Scofield, this guy says he's your attorney. Is that right?"

He couldn't help but grin. Bruce Bennett's colleague had recommended Blue Phillips as Sara's attorney. "Good to see you, Blue."

"What the fuck kind of name is Blue?" Todd scoffed.

"It's the kind of name you'll see on a judge's order if you don't start treating my client better." Blue smiled. "Have they given you anything to eat, Mr. Scofield?"

Michael was enjoying this. "Not yet."

Blue glared at Todd. "And when's the last time you allowed Mr. Scofield a bathroom break?"

"That's what bedpans are for," Todd said.

Blue shook his head. "So you want to be cited for prisoner abuse. You want to waste your time rushing to comply with endless court orders."

"Now wait a minute, _Blue,_ there's no reason to come in here spouting off threats—"

"My client has rights, Agent Wheatley, and I want them seen to right now or I'm calling the judge. I have him on speed dial, you know."

Todd rolled his eyes. "The chains are _not_ coming off."

"That's fine—your officers can help him shuffle to the bathroom—whatever you need to do. Just stop denying him his rights, or you'll be sorry."

Todd placed his hands on his hips.

"Doctor . . ." Blue peered at her nametag, "Daniels, how do _you_ think this prisoner has been treated?"

"Um . . ." Karina glanced at Todd, who shot her the stink eye.

"Do you agree he should be given food and access to the restroom?"

"Yes, I do. But Agent Wheatley did do as I asked and removed the handcuffs from the patient's wrists."

Blue's jaw dropped. "You handcuffed his burned _wrists_?"

Todd exhaled and gestured to the bed. "Unlock him and take him to the head." As the officers moved in, he warned, "But don't take your eyes off him for a second."

Once free of being shackled to the bed, Michael swung his feet around, chains clanging. The officers grasped each of his upper arms as they guided him off the bed.

As Michael looked at the floor, the tile swam before his eyes. Instead of layers of floorboard, concrete, and steel beams beneath him, all he saw was the flat, one-dimensional tile. Terrified to step down on the foreign surface, he halted his foot mid-air.

"C'mon." One officer tugged his arm.

Michael's throat tightened. Why wouldn't his damn legs move? He felt paralyzed, frightened to step on the rolling, unsteady floor

"Move it, Scofield," Todd cajoled from across the room.

As Michael took a tentative step, he felt himself plunging into nothingness. His foot scrabbled for a firm hold. When he careened forward, one officer lost his grip, and Michael crashed to the floor. He hit his left side with a thump while managing not to land on his injured hands.

"God damn it!" Todd yelled, rushing over, "It's a trick! He's trying to escape!" Once he reached him, he pushed the officers aside and rolled Michael over on his back.

Todd gasped when he read the fear in Michael's light-blue eyes. This was no trick. Something was definitely wrong with Scofield.


	8. Lay it Down Slow

8\. Lay It Down Slow

Lincoln burst through the doors of the dilapidated hospital. _LJ, where's LJ?_ He scanned the crowd of weary Panamanians in the waiting room, but found only brown-skinned locals. He turned on his heel and jogged down the hallway.

Nurses and orderlies looked up as he passed, seeming to gape at his height and muscularity. One hospital wing veered off the main hallway and Lincoln took it. He grunted and quickened his pace when his search came up empty. He was about to hurry down another wing, marked _Cirugía_ , when a small brown hand reached up to stop him.

Peering at the nurse's hand on his chest, Lincoln scowled. "Let me through!"

"Señor, no puede entrar." (Sir, you cannot enter.)

"Listen, lady, you better step out of—"

"Está bien, Señora," Lincoln looked up to find his shirtless son hustling toward him. "Ėl está conmigo" (He's with me.)

The nurse barely had time to step aside before Lincoln scooped up his son in a suffocating hug. "How's Sofia?"

"She's in surgery" was his muffled response. Once his father released him, LJ said, "It took us so long to get here—she lost a lot of blood."

Barely visible under his five o'clock shadow, the muscles lining Lincoln's jaw flexed. After glancing at two police officers posted about ten feet down the corridor, he noticed LJ was shivering. "What happened to your shirt?"

"I, um, was pressing it on the wound—it got kinda bloody, um . . ."

Lincoln exhaled with disgust. "You've been through way too much for a sixteen year old, kid." He shrugged out of his shirt.

"It's okay, I don't need it."

"Take it."

"I don't need—"

"Take it." Lincoln's tone brooked no argument, and LJ put on the white button-down, which hung loosely over his frame.

The nurses didn't seem to mind the view of Lincoln's chiseled chest. The muscled curve of his pectorals, the hard planes of his sternum, the rippled hills of his abs . . . One nurse stopped and stared, slack-jawed, before resuming her bustle down the hallway.

Seemingly oblivious to his admirers, Lincoln asked, "Was the shooter that guy who was tailing you before?"

LJ gulped. "Think so. Think it was the same car. I told the police what he looked like." He looked up. "I'm sorry, should've known he was there—I should've stopped him . . ."

"Hey." His tone had grown much gentler. "Not your fault. _I'm_ the one who should've been there." He sighed. "But I didn't think I could leave Sara alone."

Lincoln wanted to tell LJ about Michael, but with Sofia's life in the balance, now wasn't a good time. LJ hadn't taken Veronica's murder well, of course, and he could only imagine LJ's devastation upon learning of his uncle's death.

"La familia de Sofia Lugo?"

Both Burrows men headed toward the woman.

"Is she okay?" Lincoln asked.

The social worker responded with a thick accent, "You want English?"

"Por favor," LJ said.

Lincoln noticed a man in scrubs exit the surgery room. When he looked their way and gave a sad smile, Lincoln's stomach dropped.

"Lo siento—I am sorry," the woman began, leading Lincoln to tense. His arm inched across his son's shoulders. "Señorita Lugo . . . the doctor did anything he can to save her . . ."

A shroud of rage floated over Lincoln's face while LJ sucked in a breath.

". . . But she loses too much sangre, uh, blood." The woman's eyes met Lincoln's. "She died."

LJ's stifled cry pierced into Lincoln, who drew his son into his substantial chest, letting the boy just sob for several moments.

Over his son's head, he asked the social worker, "Can I see her?" Receiving a terse nod, he pulled away from LJ. "Wait out here."

"No, I'm coming with you."

"No, LJ, you don't need to see this."

His lips trembled. "She was my friend, too!"

Lincoln thought for a moment before squaring his shoulders. "You're right. Let's go."

They entered the surgery room and forced themselves to approach the table where Sofia's slim form lay, quiet and still. The nurse who'd been arranging surgical instruments on a tray slipped out when they entered.

Lincoln was grateful for sheet obscuring her wounds. They could see the smooth tan skin of her face, framed by glossy black hair fanning out on the metal table. Her expression seemed guileless, and Lincoln swallowed as he realized she'd take that innocence to the grave.

 _Te amo,_ she'd told him. His heart squeezed as he stared down at yet another company victim.

 _if you've got love in your heart  
why don't you keep it with mine?  
i can't promise a miracle  
but I'll always be trying*_

Thinking of Eifel Tower key-chains, Lincoln pressed his lips together. His voice was gruff yet soft. "She never got her happy ending. But she always kept trying to find it."

LJ clasped her slender wrist extending out from beneath the sheet. "Adios, Sofia." Tracks of tears lined his face. "Should've been me, not you. Lo siento."

His son's words stabbed his heart. "Knew you shouldn't have come in. It's too much for you to see her like this."

"Stop trying to protect me. I can take care of myself!"

Lincoln exhaled. He'd totally failed at protecting his son, a mistake he intended to remedy. He didn't want LJ out of his sight again.

LJ sniffed. "You lied to me."

Lincoln frowned. "What?"

"You pretended Uncle Mike was with you in Costa Rica. Why didn't you tell me he's in prison again?" He jutted his chin forward. "I can handle it."

Lincoln's heart skipped a beat. "You . . . Michael . . . uh, _prison?_ What the hell you talking 'bout?"

LJ tilted his head to the side. "Yeah, you know—a Miami prison. How'd he get caught?"

"He's _alive?"_ He squeezed LJ's arms. "Wh-Where'd you see that?"

"In the newspaper! I bent down to get it, and that's when the guy shot—"

His father bolted out of the room while he was mid-sentence. Confused, he trailed him out to the hallway to watch him rush to the nurse's station as he yelled, "Newspaper!"

Lincoln received blank stares and a few curious glances at his bare torso, but nobody moved.

"Periódico," LJ offered as he came up behind him.

"Sí." A nurse reached under the counter to draw out the rumpled front section of _La Prensa._

Lincoln seized it and started rifling through it, halting on page eight. The newspaper shook in his trembling hands. "Oh my God, he's alive. He's alive."

"You thought Uncle Mike was _dead?"_ LJ's eyes widened.

Lincoln looked up at his son's sky-blue eyes, so reminiscent of his brother's, and broke out in an enormous, goofy grin. "He's fucking alive! We have to tell Sara! We have to tell her right now. Let's go."

Neither had noticed two police officers approaching from behind, but that changed when one officer aimed his weapon at them both.

Lincoln froze.


	9. Escape Plan

9\. Escape Plan

"What in the hell's your problem, Scofield?"

Shackled to the hospital bed once again, Michael looked down. His return trip from the bathroom had gone more smoothly than his initial clumsy, faltering steps, and he was getting a handle on what had happened to his electrocuted brain synapses. However, he had no intention of sharing that insight with Agent Wheatley.

"Answer me!" Todd snapped. "I'm getting sick of this. Don't you realize your wife's danger increases every second? You don't seem to grasp the consequences of your silence."

Karina snuck a worried glance at Michael, then looked at Todd. "He's probably dizzy from the electrocution. Twelve-hundred volts can really do a number on the body's equilibrium."

"Humph." Todd shook his head.

Michael said, "You said you'd move Sara to Ad Seg if I told you about the escape. Have you lived up to your end of the deal?"

"Get real—you haven't given us bupkis."

He sighed. "What do you want to know."

"How'd you get messages to her? We watched you both every second."

When Michael shifted in the bed, the chains jangled. No way he'd tell Todd about the origami rose—that was far too sacred to share. However, he'd noticed the frightened look in Karina's eyes, and he knew he had to make it look like he believed Sara was still in prison. "When I told Sara to pray for us…that was a signal to meet me in the chapel."

Todd scolded himself for missing that. "I thought you were saying you wanted a divorce. You wouldn't be the first husband to dump his convict wife, you know, especially when she's facing such a long sentence."

Michael recoiled. "She was in there because of me!"

"You mean she's still in there because of you."

"Yes!"

Todd's eyes tapered into slits. "How'd you get inside the prison walls?"

Michael paused. Karina was busying herself with the supplies on a nearby crash cart, but he knew she was listening.

"The parachute landing was obviously a ruse, to cover up your real method of entry," Todd said. "What was it?"

"If I tell you, you'll segregate Sara?"

"I'll think about it."

"Todd, please don't _think,"_ Michael said, "or we'll all be in trouble."

"Listen, _con,_ you better start talking or I'll sic those prison guards on your wife myself."

"So you _did_ know the COs hit Sara. Do you get off on beating pregnant women?"

Todd jutted his jaw. "And do _you_ get off on seducing female doctors?"

Karina shifted as a silence blanketed the hospital room.

Todd continued, "I know your little game, Scofield. I know how it works. But rest assured you won't be able to manipulate the system this time around. We've got this hospital locked down air-tight. Nobody knows you're here—well, except for your damn attorney. And once your wounds start to heal, we'll take you to a SuperMax facility, which, I assure you, will offer no possibility of escape. Better get used to those chains."

Michael looked down at the gleaming metal encircling his arms, waist, and ankles, and realized he was already accustomed to the shackles. The thought unnerved him.

"Now I'll ask you one more time. How'd you get inside those prison walls?"

Michael stared at Todd. "I came in on the second parachute."

"The second . . . ? I didn't see another—"

"It was dark. Some idiot ordered all the lights off."

Todd's lips pressed into a sneer. "But we didn't find another parachute."

"I stuffed it in the incinerator." Michael hoped the prison had one.

"And when the hell'd you have time to do that?"

"Theodore gave me all the time I needed."

"Theodore Bagwell?"

Michael smirked. "See, there's only one thing you can count on when you're dealing with T-Bag. He's a rat."

"We already knew T-Bag was an accomplice. He's in the SHU for a looong time."

Michael's grin widened. At least there was that.

One of the police officers stepped into the room. "They just brought some food for the prisoner. We checked it out—it looks clean."

"Fine." Todd scowled. "Bring it in."

Expecting to see a tray of unpalatable hospital food, Michael's eyebrows scrunched when the officer set a large plastic lidded cup on his bedside table.

Karina gestured to his bandaged hands. "You can't hold a fork yet, so I ordered supplement shakes for you."

So she'd known how embarrassing it would be for him to be fed by another person. Her thoughtfulness floored him.

"Enjoy your little milkshake," Todd said. "Gotta make some calls."

The mood lightened considerably once he left. Michael took a sip through the straw and screwed up his face.

"Sorry, the shakes aren't the best-tasting. But, they are packed with vitamins to aid in your recovery."

"It's not bad," Michael said. "I'm just not hungry."

Karina's forehead creased. "You haven't eaten in days. You should be starving."

He shrugged. "For a while there it seemed like I was always starving. We were on the run, though, and never had time to eat." He recalled the shooting in the desert. "Man, I was really looking forward to that pizza . . ." His voice trailed off as he remembered eluding an assassin—the heat of that abandoned building where he and Sara had hidden, her body pressed up against his, frightened yet trusting, knowing he'd get them to safety.

"You were starving for a while and now you're not very hungry?"

Michael nodded.

"I've noticed you've lost some weight in the past few days. Have you experienced recent weight loss or gain?"

His cheeks colored. "I've been thin all my life—Linc used to tease me for being so scrawny. But suddenly I gained all this weight. It was kind of embarrassing."

Karina sat on a stool and wheeled it closer to the bed. "I bet that tumor on your hypothalamus was messing with your hunger signals." She had his attention. "The ventromedial hypothalamus helps control your appetite. Rats with lesions in that area eat uncontrollably, gain lots of weight. Now that the tumor's gone, your appetite's decreased, back to normal."

He blinked several times, absorbing her explanation. She could rival Sara for medical knowledge. Remembering Todd's comment, he swallowed. "I'm, uh, sorry about what Todd said. I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm not trying to escape this time around. I already got what I wanted: Linc and Sara are safe."

Her big brown eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's okay—you're really not my type. I don't go for married men." She smiled brightly. "And, no offense, but I like a man with a little more meat on his bones."

Michael knew of such a man. "I wonder if Linc and Sara know I'm alive by now."

"It was a front page story here—the article said you were being detained in an undisclosed federal penitentiary. Do Lincoln and Sara have access to the news? The internet?"

Michael shot her a glare.

Karina backpedaled. "Forget it. I don't want to know where they are. I'm already in deep enough as it is."

"Don't worry—I won't let on to Todd that you told me about Sara. I wish I could repay you for that. I don't know what I would've done if I was stuck here, thinking Sara could be killed any second."

"That was very cruel of Agent Wheatley. Dumbass."

Michael tensed. "Watch out for him—he's not as dumb as he looks."

"Is that why you didn't want him to know your LLI was gone?"

She was sharp as a hypodermic needle. "I thought that might be the case. Is it possible the LLI just disappeared?"

"I looked at the brain scans from that clinic in town," she said. "It looks like your surgeon successfully removed most of the hypothalamic tumor. But it appeared some tendrils of the tumor remained, mostly wrapped around your optic nerve. You probably had some papilledema there—some swelling and intracranial pressure. I think the tumor was responsible for you having such aberrant perceptual abilities."

"And if the tumor's gone, so is the LLI." His voice trembled.

"I thought the LLI made things difficult for you? Made you different from the other kids, gave you headaches…overwhelmed your senses?"

"It did all that, yes." He blinked. "And it helped me save the lives of my brother and my wife."

Karina didn't know what to say.

"What if I need the LLI again?" He took a sip of the shake. "I seem to be adjusting to this flat depth perception, but what if I need the old way to keep people safe?" He looked down. "Anyway, don't want the government to know my special ability's gone. I still want them to be afraid of me—gives me an advantage." His mouth tightened. "The only advantage I have."

"Maybe it'll help you cope better in prison," Karina suggested. "Without that flood of incoming stimuli, maybe you'll be able to focus better on what's most important. Like keeping _you_ safe."

He pictured a cold, unknown SuperMax facility—his home for the next God knew how many years.

~~ o*o ~~

The childish timbre of her voice contrasted with her thick, black glasses. Daddy sat across from Miami-Dade Penitentiary Warden Alice Simms, whose coiffed brown hair, piercing hazel eyes, and determined set to her jaw conveyed that she meant business.

"What'd you know about the escape, Denisse?" Alice asked. "You cooperate with me and you get out of the SHU early."

"It's Daddy." Her eyes narrowed. "I got my family in here. And that bitch Tancredi or Scofield or whatever the hell her name is—she ain't one of 'em."

"You got into an altercation in the cafeteria right before the escape," Alice said. "One of the guards was assaulted."

"That ain't on me!" Daddy sat up. "It was that psycho Morgan—she's the craziest chick in all of Bitch Pop, I swear!"

"So you're not cooperating. You'd like to return to the SHU for your full sentence, I see."

The prisoner sniffed. "It true what they're saying? Tancredi's husband really came and got her? Helped her escape?"

Alice said nothing, and Daddy sighed. "He must be some husband."

Alice dealt her building irritation by yanking her ringing phone off the hook. "What is it?"

"You have a visitor," the secretary said.

When Alice heard the visitor's name, her eyes bugged.


	10. Zombie

10\. Zombie (Head in a Box Revisited)

 _Another mother's breakin'_

 _Heart is taking over._

 _When the violence causes silence_

 _We must be mistaken._

~ _Zombie,_ The Cranberries

 _He stared at the photo of two blond children sitting with their parents. "Nice family picture . . . maybe we could have that someday."_

 _A thrill of energy zinged up her spine._

 _He approached her with questioning blue eyes, his long legs crossing the Miami apartment with fluid grace._

 _Her body had felt different, and she'd wondered if some amazing transformation was taking hold. But it was unconfirmed and unshared with the man gazing at her from across the kitchen bar. After taking a swig from a water bottle, she paused for a moment, not knowing what to say. Then she walked into her friend's bathroom._

 _There she learned the truth._

Sara sighed. Now that she was alone in the Costa Rican bungalow, the cascade of memories wouldn't stop.

Lincoln should have already made it back with LJ and Sofia, and the tiny knot of apprehension in her gut swelled by the minute.

She looked down at her still-flat belly. Their child must be at least two months along by now—two months of sheer trauma; two months of fighting and clawing for life. Her medical training had taught her stress was unhealthy for a fetus. She knew this baby, resting under her cupped palm, only the size of a peanut, had already endured a lifetime of stress.

Her head bowed. Worry weighed down her single-parent shoulders. She whispered to tiny, unformed ears: "Stay strong, little peanut. You can make it through anything." She felt her upper lip tremble. "Your daddy always did."

Listening to the rolling waves lapping onto the sand outside her window, her mind resumed drifting.

" _I thought I'd never see you again." The warble of his voice made her look up from the box of Chinese takeout to find him staring from across on the bed. His eyes glittered and seared into her. When he leaned closer, her breath hitched. A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth before his lips crashed onto hers._

 _Her eyes fluttered shut as she reveled in the caressing and sucking and stroking. The tip of her nose pressed against his stubbly cheek as she inhaled the essence of one Michael Scofield. She'd been apart from him for too long, and reuniting with him—kissing him, hearing his intake of breath, feeling his palpable presence on her skin and in her heart—lent a surreal quality. She fought the urge to stop and scan the room for Gretchen ghouls or nefarious fiends trying to tear them apart._

 _But there were no barriers this time, and she clutched the back of his neck as their tongues dipped and danced in the bottomless kiss. She crossed her wrists behind his head, drinking him into her. Could her desire for him be any stronger?_

 _They ended the kiss and held completely still as their foreheads touched. They gazed into each other's eyes. Crystal-blue locked onto mahogany-brown. Sara's mouth furled up into a giddy grin and Michael responded with a full smile. He was real. He was present. He was hers._

 _Moments later her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder as they discussed the impossible task of taking down the company in exchange for his freedom. She rested her cheek on the warm cotton of his navy-blue shirt. He hesitated, then confessed, "I love you; that's all I know right now."_

She rubbed her palm over her belly, feeling more lost than ever before. "I love you," she whispered as tears slid down her cheeks. "That's all I know right now."

 _In your head, in your head, they are dying._

~~ o*o ~~

"God this car's a piece of junk," Lincoln muttered, feeling the vehicle strain and shudder under his lead foot.

"Maybe you shouldn't speed," LJ said. "If we get pulled over, those papers might not work again."

Lincoln patted his pants pocket, hearing the satisfying crinkle of the folded exoneration papers inside. The Panamanian police had detained them for several hours while they'd checked out the U.N. pardon they'd found on Lincoln, and finally they'd let him go. In turn, Lincoln had provided Blue Phillips' phone number in case there were further developments identifying Sofia's killer.

"This car ain't the sweet ride we had in Utah, huh?" Lincoln winked and reached across the seat to ruffle his son's hair.

LJ shook his head. "It sucked having to abandon that epic car." This old beater didn't have air-conditioning, and despite the wind whipping through the open windows, he could see beads of sweat sliding down his father's exposed, muscular chest. He hoped criminal behavior wouldn't be the only trait he'd inherit. He wouldn't mind being ripped like his dad one day.

"We're getting close," Lincoln said. "Read the article to me again?"

LJ grinned as he unfolded the wrinkled copy of _La Prensa_ lying next to him. In halting attempts to translate from Spanish, he read, "Mr. Scofield is in a location that is, uh, hidden . . . oh, an undisclosed location, probably a cárcel, um, a prison. An agent from the Information of Agency Federal . . ." He stared at the newspaper. "FBI! An FBI Agent, Mr. Todd Wheatley, said, 'Mr. Scofield is no stranger to prison escape. This is his . . . third attempt. But this time, we will . . . obtain justice. He will not escape this time'."

Lincoln's prominent eyebrows furrowed. "Wheatley—that tool."

A clunking noise cut LJ's chuckle short.

When the Chevy decelerated on its own accord, Lincoln had no choice but to guide it over to the shoulder of the two-lane highway.

"What's happening?" LJ asked.

"Dunno." As the car slowed down, some wisps of smoke leaked out of the hood. "Must be the radiator," he growled. "Dammit! We're only about a mile from the house." The car rolled to a stop and Lincoln reached down to pop the hood, resulting in more smoke billowing out of the engine.

Lincoln snatched a rag from the back seat. He marched to the hood and lifted it with the rag. LJ stood next to him and coughed from the acrid smoke rolling toward him.

Lincoln scowled. "We just passed a town a couple of miles south. Gonna walk there and get some help." He glanced at his son. "Sara's waited long enough. You run ahead and tell her."

"Really?" Excitement revved his heart. "But how will you get help? You don't speak any Spanish."

Lincoln grunted. "There's got to be somebody who speaks English down here."

"Repeat after me, Dad: Hay una problema con el coche" (There's a problem with the car).

When his father butchered the words, LJ held up his hand. "Forget it," he laughed. "You're helpless. Just tell them you have a problem with the _radiador_."

"Got it. Now go tell Sara. Get to her as fast as you can. She's in serious need of some good news."

~~ o*o ~~

LJ burst into the bungalow. He found Sara around the corner, in the living room.

She'd jerked up off the sofa, though seemed to calm down when she saw him. She wiped her cheeks but couldn't hide the tracks of tears. Nor could she conceal the flat shimmer of her tired, hollow eyes.

"Sara." LJ panted from his jog.

"Come here." She opened her arms and he stumbled forward.

At first he felt awkward in her arms, but then her embrace reminded him of his mother, and he leaned into her. She was his aunt now, and it just felt right to be hugged by her.

It felt right for both of them.

"I guess I should call you Aunt Sara now, huh?" His face was buried in her shoulder, muffling his words.

She swallowed, feeling the tears start again with the reminder of his uncle. She let him go. "Where's Lincoln?"

"We had car problems. Dad went south to get help, but he sent me up here to tell you something."

Noticing his heaving chest, she asked, "You ran here?"

"Yeah." His eyes bowled her over with their resemblance to Michael's. "Aunt Sara, I got big news. You, um, you better sit down, since you're pregnant and all."

She tilted her head as his jittery energy halted her tears. "I'm not incapacitated just yet, LJ. What is it?"

He bit his lip. "Uh, Uncle Mike . . . well, he's alive."

Her face fell. Lips parted, eyes blinked, heart stopped. Her mouth quivered in an attempt to form words.

"He's alive, Sara!"

"H-H-How?"

"I don't know how, but he's in a Miami prison. There's an article about it in the newspaper—damn, I left it in the car. We got a computer here?" He started canvassing the small beach house, striding from room to room with Sara trailing numbly behind him. "Hold on." He frowned. "There's not even a TV here! What the hell we going to do all day?"

"LJ?" He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around to find Sara standing there with tears streaming down her face. "Michael's really alive?"

"Yep. Can't believe you and Dad thought he was dead. That's crazy!"

She cradled her face, weeping into her cupped hands. Her slender frame shook with sobs.

"Um, Sara?" LJ squirmed, then stepped closer and clasped her wrist. "Why are you crying?"

She forced her hands down and away from her face, giving him a clear view of her blotchy, tear-stained skin, her body still trembling. "One day. He said, 'One day'." She shook her head. "He really meant it."

He squinted at her. His hand darted up to trace her collarbone then he twisted to the side to peer at the back of her head.

She squinted, too. "What are you doing?"

"You're acting kind of strange. Just checking to make sure there aren't creepy Frankenstein stitches—no head reattachment scars or anything."

A dazzling smile lit up her face—her first smile in days. "Seems like I'm not the only one around here coming back from the dead."


	11. By the Skin (And the Teeth)

11\. By the Skin (and the Teeth)

 _My skin is like a map, of where my heart has been  
And I can't hide the marks, but it's not a negative thing*_

How long had it been since he'd felt rested? Months? Years? He certainly hadn't slept well in Fox River, between Sucre keeping watch while he prowled the prison bowels, and Haywire violating his dreams by shredding his shirt to see the "pathway to hell" on his back. Then they'd been on the run—an endless run hounded by endless pursuit.

Michael realized the irony of his capture being the only respite he'd found in a long six months. He was finally able to relax, and despite the throbbing pain in his bandaged hands, he'd never felt better. _Linc and Sara are free_.

Shifting in bed caused the chains to clink and clang, drawing the attention of the police officer posted in the corner of the room. The Miami officer looked up from his book of Sudoku puzzles and scowled. "Because of you, I only got a few of these left. Now I'll have to buy a whole new book, pendejo."

Michael's shrug jingled the chains around his arms. "Sorry, boss."

Earlier, Karina had found the book of puzzles left in the hospital room. She'd held up each page of the book for him since he couldn't write in the numbers himself. Though it'd taken him a few seconds to adjust to the one-dimensional view instead of perceiving the puzzle as a cube, Michael began calling numbers faster than Karina could write, and they'd whipped through pages of puzzles before the officer had returned and snatched away his book.

The officer grunted in response, then refocused on the puzzles. Bored once again, Michael looked around the room at various pieces of medical equipment, like the defibrillator parked against a side wall. He wondered if Sara had ever been forced to shock a Fox River inmate whose heart had stopped. Michael had felt like he'd needed the defibrillator himself, that night in the safe house in Chicago. That night they'd made love for the first time.

" _I love you; that's all I know right now," he said. The side of her face cuddled into his shoulder._

 _When she gazed up at him, he dipped his head, and their lips met halfway. A spark of electricity flickered up his spine, and he deepened the kiss. He felt her soft hand smoothing across his jaw._

 _Their evening had been a tragicomic dance, alternating between heavy dread:_

" _How much time you looking at?" She rested her head on his shoulder._

 _His resigned pause. "They're saying fifteen years . . ."_

 _And light banter:_

 _He kept something hidden behind his back as he climbed onto the bed. Then, with a flair, he presented the origami rose. "You left this behind."_

 _The timbre of her laugh filled his ears like his most favorite song._

" _So_ that's _what was this about: getting me my rose back." She grinned._

 _His fingers cradled her elevated knee, hidden under the sheets, "Yeah, I guess I'm done now. I can retire . . ."_

 _Now the energy between them was neither light nor dark, but a multihued band of fire, with every color of the spectrum crackling between them in a brilliant fusion. Michael cherished Sara's compassionate, fierce, and loyal nature. She'd agreed to be his partner. She'd stood beside him, despite the danger of her mere association with him._

 _Worry tightened his throat as he gazed down at the soulful, sophisticated woman in his arms._ What if I lose her again?

 _He remembered Veronica's scornful remark, "You two have the most dysfunctional relationship I've ever seen". Though she'd been referring to him and Linc, the description could easily fit his relationship with Sara. First he'd met her under false pretenses, then he'd betrayed her, and finally she'd lost everything because of him—her career, her father, her dignity. Yet here she was in his arms. Here she was, wanting him as much as he wanted her._

" _So, um, I guess this is our first date? It's not Baja." He pointed to the cartons of Chinese takeout. "And it's not filet mignon. But at least it's safe."_

" _You probably take all your first dates to safe houses," she teased._

 _Her joke made his anxiety vanish, and his lips curled up into a grin. "It does have a certain, uh,_ exciting _ambience, doesn't it?"_

" _I don't think it's the house that's exciting." Could she feel his heartbeat accelerate beneath her cheek? Lifting to kiss him again, she murmured against his lips, "It's being with you. That's what's exciting."_

 _He kept one hand cradling her neck as he scooted down and swiveled his shoulder to align his chest with hers._

 _Taking his cue, she rolled to her back. She reached for him and guided him on top of her._

 _He hovered over her, his weight on his elbows, his legs tangled with hers. When he kissed her soft lips, he was lost. She welcomed his tongue with a playful flick of her own, which sent a jolt to his groin. Their kisses lasted for several minutes but still he couldn't get enough of her._

 _She reached to unbutton his jeans, and his breath hitched when she brushed against him. He twirled strands of her silky hair around his fingers like he was molding copper coils that filled the mattress below them._

 _Feeling his jeans already scrunched around his thighs—the doctor was good with her hands—he drifted down to unzip her pants, all the while keeping focus on their infinite kisses. When she shoved his long-sleeve T-shirt up his ribcage, he hesitated. A strange shyness about revealing his inked skin overtook him._

 _She seemed surprised by his vacillation. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, Mr. Scofield. Take it off."_

 _Her joke lightened the mood, and he yanked the shirt over his head._

 _He followed her gaze down to a sea of dark-blue ink: arches, buttresses, devil, angel. The battle between good and evil played out on his skin. As she traced a Gothic portico with her finger, he wondered what she was thinking. Her eyes seemed weighed down by sadness._

 _He smoothed his hands up her slender hips and wrinkled her white shirt like an accordion. When her shirt got stuck, he reached underneath her to free it, and she froze. "No." Her voice was a whimper._

 _He backed off her in an instant as he tried to understand the terror in her eyes._

" _I-I'll do it," she said. She kept her back close to the mattress as she pulled off her shirt._

 _Her whimper echoed in his mind, and he continued to hold back until she guided his hand to her bra-strap. "Please." Soon he'd removed her bra, and he couldn't stop staring at her exquisite breasts._

 _They were round and smooth, and pebbled from his touch. As he fondled her, her eyes closed and her jaw went slack, spurring him to engulf her nipples in his mouth._

 _He heard her take in a shaky breath as he sucked and licked her sensitive skin. Her hands found his back, and her long strokes down his spine stoked a fire inside of him. When her fingertips skated over his left shoulder blade, she said, "The burn feels pretty much healed."_

" _Yeah, the doctor who fixed it up must've known what she was doing."_

 _She smirked. "So did Geary really do that to you?"_

 _He bristled. "No. I . . . I was in the walls, wearing a guard's jacket."_

 _She looked up at him with questions in her eyes._

" _Don't ask." He sighed when she continued staring at him. "A bull snuck up right in front of me and took a swig of booze, and I had to back up so that he wouldn't see me."_

 _Her mouth tightened. "And what did you back into?"_

" _Hot water pipe." He hoped she wasn't too angry with him._

 _Sara winced. She drew him closer, clutching him to her. She whispered in his ear, "The tattoo . . . the burn . . . they mark your love for your brother. That kind of devotion—it made me fall in love with you."_

 _He reveled in the feel of her lithe body pressed up against him. "Linc led me to you." He swallowed. "For that I'm grateful."_

 _Michael lifted his head from her shoulder and gazed at her. Her intelligent brown eyes shined, their beauty stealing his breath._

 _They ripped off their remaining clothes, something he'd longed to do since that first infirmary kiss. Back then he'd feared someone walking in on them. Now only he could see the richness of her auburn hair spilling over porcelain skin. Only she could notice the sinew of hip muscle once he shimmied out of his boxer shorts._

 _They'd waded through six months of stolen, bittersweet kisses to get to this moment. The bitterness had left, but the sweetness remained, mingling with the building heat of their colliding bodies. "Michael," she breathed, her voice like a match struck against his skin. He could feel she was ready for him, and he pulsed into her. God, she felt good. She panted as they rocked together, and blood rushed in his ears. His need for her climbed with each thrust, soaring higher, his passion a crescendo, a climax._

 _He was so close. So close to her. So close to losing control, but this time he didn't care. When she inhaled a staccato breath, he shuddered as he released his seed into her. He held her to him, lost in heat and touch and scent and sensation. He could almost see through her ribcage to her heart, watching it decelerate from its frenzy a moment ago. Though he hadn't known it then, their love for each other had coalesced and woven together to form a new life._

 _After shrugging his shirt back on, he came up behind her. When he touched her shirt, she nearly jumped out of her chair. Her breath came in panicked gasps, and he cupped her shoulders to reassure her. After a moment, she reached up to entwine her hands with his. He said, "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."_

 _Her breath seemed labored. She turned to his hand to kiss it. "Sorry."_

" _Do you, uh, want to talk about it?"_

 _She sniffed and bowed her head, then hunched over and lifted her shirt—the shirt she'd seemed so reluctant to let him take off before. When he saw her naked back, his eyes got huge. Red, jagged lines criss-crossed her skin. The indelible lashes of raised skin, obviously the marks left by a whip, made his mouth drop open in horror. He feathered his fingers over the welts, traced her branded skin much like she'd outlined his tattoo minutes before._

 _He replaced her shirt over her back to hide the wounds. He'd been the one to draw her into the company labyrinth. He'd done this to her. He'd never hated himself more._

Michael gasped for air, blinking several times as his eyes darted around the empty hospital room. His fingers tingled with warmth like was still touching her skin, and he choked back tears when he realized she wasn't there with him. He wanted to forget the image of her lashed skin, but he needed the memory as a reminder never to hurt her again. He might as well have been holding the whip himself.

Looking down at his bare forearms, he realized the tattoo had marked his skin as a sign of his love for Lincoln, just like the scars excoriating her skin marked her love for him.

He wished he could make up for all the pain he'd caused. He wished he was more deserving of her love. But most of all, he wished he was with her.

 _I bruise easily, so be gentle when you handle me  
There's a mark you leave, like a love heart, carved on a tree_

 _Anyone who, can touch you, can hurt you, or heal you  
Anyone who, can reach you, can love you, or leave you*_

* _I Bruise Easily_ , Natasha Bedingfield


	12. Ticket to Wonderland

12\. Ticket to Wonderland

"Morgan, let's go," the female CO barked as she uncuffed Gretchen's wrist from the infirmary bed railing.

Gretchen was glad this guard wasn't the one she'd assaulted in the cafeteria. She didn't want to face her alone and cuffed. Not that it would be an unfair fight. Just that it wouldn't be pretty if Gretchen only had her lower body to defend herself—she'd have less control over the maiming that would ensue. She was already looking at enough time in solitary already.

As she got to her feet, stabbing pain shot through her injured thigh. But she knew how to ignore pain. She rolled her eyes as the CO cuffed her wrists in front of her. They'd never pull that shit in a men's prison, where only behind-the-back cuffs would do. The stupid Department of Corrections didn't understand that women could be the most dangerous of them all.

Gretchen limped along, guided by the CO's hand squeezing her biceps. "You're taking me to the SHU?"

"Not yet, con. First you got a ticket to Wonderland."

She tried to decipher that comment. _What the fuck's Wonderland?_

A CO escorted another prisoner down the hallway, and Gretchen tensed when she noticed the telltale thick black-rimmed glasses and spiky black hair. Daddy's lips furled into a sneer as she passed, but Gretchen went for a look of disinterest. She'd have to deal with that self-proclaimed cell-block leader later. First she needed to figure out where the hell they were taking her.

They arrived at the administration building. The CO plunked her on a bench and locked her cuffs to the bench between her legs. Gretchen looked up at her with questioning eyes.

"Warden's got a visitor, so you're gonna wait here till she's free. Have fun with Alice."

The CO's code name for Warden Alice's office dawned on her.

~~ o*o ~~

Alice Simms studied her unexpected visitor. She'd viewed news clips of him dressed in a wrinkled business suit, and now his casual maroon button-down shirt and navy slacks made him almost unrecognizable. He'd easily blend in with the scads of senior citizens settling in southern Florida—at least he wasn't wearing black socks with sandals. She circled her desk and offered her hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Pope?"

He was surprised by her firm grip. "Please call me Henry, Warden Simms."

"And I'm Alice."

"I've been following news of Dr. Tancredi's escape," Henry said. He waited for her to sit before he sat in the chair across the desk. "I thought you could use a friend."

When her hard look softened, he could see her attractiveness beneath that tough exterior. Her hazel eyes shined with an intensity that belied her years of experience. She hadn't yet acquired the grizzled cynicism characterizing many of his warden colleagues.

"A friend?" she repeated. "I suppose we _are_ the only two people who understand how it feels to be swindled by Michael Scofield."

Henry chuckled. "Somehow, I doubt that. Michael's genius has duped quite a long list of people. Heck, we're not even the only wardens he's tricked. There must be some prison administrator down in Panama licking his wounds after Michael got done with him."

"So it's true? He really masterminded an escape from Sona?"

"That's what I've been told by a former FBI agent. The company needed Michael to get one of their men out of there."

She arched one sculpted eyebrow. "The company? I didn't take you for a conspiracy theorist."

"I'd hardly apply such a label to myself. But I am a man of the law, and there's plenty of evidence the company's broken every law conceivable."

"What kind of evidence are you referring to?"

"Funny you should ask." Henry dug into his briefcase. He pulled out a bound stack of papers and dropped them on her desk with a resonant thump. "This is the transcript of a Secret Service agent's testimony in Dr. Tancredi's trial a few months ago."

"Surely you realize I don't have time to read that whole thing."

"Would you like the Cliff's Notes version, then?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why're you here, Mr. Pope? You're retired now, right? Instead of returning inside prison walls, why aren't you out enjoying our Miami beaches?"

He should have expected her suspicion. He would've had the same doubts, days after a prison escape. "Before I answer, I have a question for you. The newspaper hinted you're demanding a maximum sentence for Michael Scofield. Is that true?"

"Of course."

"Then that's why I'm here: to prevent you from making a huge mistake."

Alice sat back in her chair as she eyed him. He looked like a gentle grandfather but acted like an uncompromising bull. "Let me get this straight. You're _defending_ Michael Scofield? The man who broke himself and seven convicts out of your prison? The man who caused you to get fired?"

"I wasn't fired. I resigned. And I know exactly where you're coming from. Right after the escape, I was incensed. I hated Michael for making me look like a damn fool. I thought he'd ruined my life. I wanted to throw him in the SHU for years."

Her eyes flared, and he bet she felt the same way.

"Then things changed," he added.

"Why?"

"When they were on the run, Michael and Sara came to me, asked for my help. I refused, but Michael held a gun on me."

"Is this supposed to convince me of his integrity?"

Henry held up his hand. "Just wait. I helped them get a taped conversation between President Reynolds and her brother, and I listened to the recording myself." He shuddered. "I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say the conversation took place _after_ Terrence Steadman was supposedly murdered. That's the first time I suspected the company existed. Now I'm certain they exist—powerful, nefarious people."

"So you believe Lincoln Burrows' exoneration was legitimate? I figured some high-priced attorney got him off on technicalities."

Henry pointed at the document on her desk. "It's all in there—Paul Kellerman's testimony of how the Secret Service framed Lincoln. Hell, they tried to blackmail _me_ before the escape." Henry winced, thinking about the death of his son, Will. Perhaps his regret was the reason he was here, fighting for a man who felt like a son.

Alice's lips were still pressed together. "Why would this 'company' target two brothers from Chicago?"

"Because their father left the company after years of working for them. He took their secrets with him. The company wanted revenge, so they framed Lincoln. The only reason Lincoln wasn't wrongfully executed? Michael broke him out."

"How do you know all of this?"

"As you pointed out, I'm retired. I have lots of time on my hands, and a natural curiosity to explore why a brilliant structural engineer would willingly rob a bank, lose two toes, sustain a severe burn—"

"He's burned himself again, I'm afraid." Alice sighed. "During the escape, he got electrical burns on his hands and arms."

"Is he okay?"

"He's alive." Her eyes narrowed.

"Alice, Michael Scofield's not the enemy—the company is. The more I discover about this company, the more shocked and intrigued I become. Yesterday a former FBI agent came to see me, filled in the blanks in my research. The company has completely infiltrated our government—it must be taken down."

"Why haven't I heard this before?"

"I'm guessing the company has the media in their back pockets."

Alice's mouth popped open, and she didn't speak for several moments. "All this is great, but it doesn't excuse the crime Michael Scofield committed by breaking his wife out of here. She's a murderer who's gone free."

Henry shook his head. "I've known Dr. Tancredi for some time now, and she is no murderer. The truth would've come out when her case got to court."

"And now we may never know, thanks to her husband."

"That may be, but we need to focus on more important facts. How about you investigate the real murderers, starting with General Krantz?"

Alice sat back in her chair. "The FBI told me he's a real slippery character. They haven't found much on him yet."

"But they will. It's just a matter of time before his crimes come to the surface."

Alice's phone buzzed, and she flipped it on speaker. "I thought I told you not to interrupt me."

"Yes, Warden. But there's a prisoner who's been waiting to see you."

"Does the prisoner have somewhere else to be, Janice? A busy social calendar? I think she'll survive waiting a few more minutes."

Janice lowered her voice to just above a whisper. "But, but, the prisoner's _staring_ at me. She's got these freaky blue eyes, and I don't like her looking at me."

Alice looked at Henry and shook her head. "Did you have to deal with nonsense like this as a warden?"

"What's the prisoner's name?" asked Henry.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Is it Gretchen Morgan?"

Alice's lips parted. She leaned back in her chair.

"She worked for General Krantz," Henry added. "This might be the 'in' that'll help you prosecute him."

Tilting her head to one side, she studied him. Then she ordered, "Send Inmate Morgan in."

The CO led in the limping prisoner and cuffed her to the chair Henry had vacated. He was now standing by the window, examining Gretchen with shrewd black eyes.

Gretchen lifted her chin and met his gaze. She thought he looked familiar.

"Wait outside, Officer," Alice said. "Inmate Morgan won't be here long. You'll need to escort her to the SHU when we're done here."

"Yes, ma'am." The CO left.

Gretchen suppressed a smirk. Was the threat of solitary was supposed to rattle her? The hideous red scars raking down her inner thighs were testimony to the bona fide torture she'd already endured.

Alice wasted no time. "Why were you in the courtyard the night of the escape?"

Gretchen turned to the older man. "Who are you?"

He exchanged a glance with Alice. "Henry Pope."

"Ah." Gretchen licked her lips. "It's a gathering of wardens suckered by Michael Scofield. How quaint."

Alice felt a flush of color rising in her cheeks. "And Henry was just telling me that you worked for the company, so I'm guessing Mr. Scofield manipulated you a time or two as well."

Arctic eyes narrowed.

"I'm glad to know about your company connection," Alice continued. "As that will certainly prolong your stay here. I have a feeling you'll be quite familiar with the SHU by the time you depart, in thirty or forty years."

Though she maintained her outward calm, Gretchen's heart thundered. Thirty or forty _years?_ She had to get to Emily!

"Unless . . ." Henry paused. "Unless you help us take down the company. If you give us something useful, you might get out of here soon."

Gretchen blinked. So they wanted to negotiate with her. She was certainly familiar with quid-pro-quo, though when Jonathan had refused to quid her quo, she'd been furious. The kind of fury that made her crave revenge.

"In my pocket." Her low voice purred. "Is something the General gave me. Something you want to see."

"Really." Alice approached her. "I'll call for the CO."

Henry shook his head. "Nonsense. I'll hold her down while you reach into her pocket. She tries any funny business and all deals are off."

Alice debated for a moment, then retrieved a folded-up newspaper clipping from Gretchen's pocket. She gasped when she read the message scribbled next to Sara Tancredi's photo:

 _$100,000 DEAD!_


	13. Get Papi

13\. Get Papi

Sara felt guilty for not crying, but there were simply no tears left. She'd used them all up when she'd believed Michael was dead, and then she'd cried even more upon discovering he was alive. Now that LJ had told her about yet another death, her face crumpled, yet her eyes remained dry. She'd have to cry another day for Sofia Lugo.

She asked, "The company?"

LJ nodded. "Think so. It was some guy, tailing us from Panama City."

"Then why'd he wait until Costa Rica to open fire?"

"Dunno." He shrugged.

At that moment he looked exactly like his father. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. You've seen too much death for someone your age."

"At least I didn't think Uncle Mike died, like you did."

"At least there's that." Sara looked down. "I thought he'd died saving me. Felt so damn guilty."

LJ rose from the sofa and crossed the room, gazing out the window to the churning sea. Thick clouds rolled in, and he stood, fascinated, as he watched the deep-grey wisps hover over the whitecaps. He clutched the hem of his dad's big shirt, which hung off of him. Playing with the frayed hem, he murmured, "I feel guilty, too."

She stared at his back, not sure if she heard him. She approached. "You feel guilty?"

He sniffed as he bowed his head. "They killed my mom when they were hunting for me. She died saving me."

Sara stepped closer and raised a faltering hand, letting it float a moment before resting it on his bony shoulder. "The company killed her, too."

"Yeah." He turned his troubled blue eyes toward her. "But I escaped."

"I'm so glad you escaped. Your dad and uncle would go crazy if they lost you."

"Yeah, I saw what Uncle Mike was like when he thought that you were dead. It wasn't pretty."

A shadow of guilt crossed her face as she remembered her abduction. "LJ, I . . . I'm so sorry I didn't get you out of there when I escaped. I didn't know where Gretchen was keeping you—"

"It's okay." He jammed his hands in his pockets. "Gretchen made me think, uh, that she, she killed you. What a bitch."

She nodded. "Well, she's not _all_ bad. She did help me escape from Miami-Dade."

His eyes bugged. "She _did?"_

"Yes." She sighed. "Apparently Gretchen has a daughter—a girl named Emily."

"Then I feel sorry for Emily. Her mom's uber psycho, and that's gotta run in the family. Psycho genes."

His quick wit was impressive, but not surprising. She only had to look at his father and uncle to find the source of his beautiful genes. "Let's hope you haven't inherited your uncle's stubbornness or self-righteousness."

LJ turned back to stare at the rolling sea. "I guess it wouldn't be bad to turn out like Uncle Mike."

Sara sidled up next to him and also gazed at the nature vista. "No," she agreed. "It wouldn't be bad at all."

~o*o~

"It's about time, Dad!" LJ hollered as Lincoln walked into the house. "You've been gone the whole day—"

He stopped mid-sentence when a bald man came in the door after his father. A woman cradling an infant arrived next, and LJ stepped back to allow them to enter.

"I had to wait for their plane," Lincoln explained as he lugged a suitcase inside.

"Fernando!" Sara cried. She ran to him and got scooped up by his muscular arms.

"Doc." Sucre squeezed her tight, then pulled back to examine her face. "Your bruises are healing."

LJ craned his neck to stare at the unknown woman, whose smile elicited dimples on both of her cheeks.

Sucre let go of Sara and drew the woman to his side. "This is mi esposa, Maricruz."

"You got _married?_ " Sara shook her head. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"When I saw you get arrested…" Sucre squirmed. "Well, uh, I didn't want to wait. _We_ didn't want to wait. And little Lilah needed a family."

Sara looked at the swaddled infant. "She's beautiful."

"Lilah Maria Sucre," Maricruz said. The dimples reappeared.

Sara marveled at her. "She's so tiny."

"Sí." Maricruz nodded. "She was premature. Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh, yes." When Maricruz tucked the baby into Sara's waiting arms, Sara cooed, "Ohhhh."

Maricruz edged closer to Sara, petting the soft wisps of black hair on her daughter's head.

"She's much sweeter when she's asleep," Sucre said.

Lincoln chuckled. "She's got some lungs on her. My ears are still ringing from the car ride."

"Did you get the car fixed?" asked LJ.

Lincoln looked up to find his son watching him. "Yeah. LJ, you've never met Sucre, right?

He shook his head.

"This is my son." Lincoln thumped LJ on the back. "Sucre was your uncle's cell mate in Fox River."

"I'm his best friend," Sucre said as he pumped LJ's hand. "When Linc told me Michael needed help, I came down right away."

"You're going to help him?" Sara asked. "Are you going to Miami?"

"Nope," Lincoln said. "Sucre's staying here to protect you and LJ. I'm the only one going to Florida."

" _What?"_ Sara handed the baby back to Maricruz and glared at Lincoln. "I'm going with you."

"Like hell you are!" he roared. "You're a fugitive. There's no way Michael wants you near the FBI right now."

"Well, then _I_ can go," LJ said.

"No!" Lincoln and Sara answered at once.

Lincoln's head shook. "There's no way I'm taking you with me, LJ. I've put you in enough danger as it is."

"What if something happens to you?" LJ said.

"What if you get hurt?" Sara jumped in. "You'll need a doctor with you."

"Yeah, and I'm not a kid anymore!" LJ's jaw jutted out. "Stop trying to protect me."

"Enough!" Lincoln said. "Both of you are staying here, damn it. End of discussion." He stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him, sweeping a gust of cool air inside.

Dark shadows smudged the walls of the house, either from the impending storm or Lincoln's brooding scowl still lingering.

Sara looked at LJ then Maricruz as awkward silence descended.

Finally Sucre said, "I'll talk to him." He hesitated a moment before following the brawny man out the door.

Lincoln leaned against a rotting wooden fence, tension evident in the stiffness of his shoulders.

Sucre joined him but didn't speak.

As the sky grew darker, Lincoln exhaled. "I'm supposed to protect my family. That's all Michael wanted from me. And I'm fucking it up, as usual."

"Michael asked you to protect Sara?"

"And the baby. He told me in the video that I'm supposed to protect them. But I know I'll screw it up. And who's gonna protect Michael? It's my fault he's locked away in some prison."

Sucre squinted. "What video?"

"Michael made a goodbye video for us to see after he died. He told me to take care of Sara and their baby, and he told Sara to take care of me since I'm such a colossal fuck-up."

Sucre shook his head. "Michael's always cooking up some kind of plan."

Lincoln grunted.

"So he expected to die."

"Yeah! And he didn't even tell me what he was going to do."

"Don't be mad at Sara or LJ, Linc. Hell, I want to try to save him, too. You can't blame them for wanting to help. It's not their fault he makes you want to fight for him. Michael just makes you want to hug him."

"Or slap him."

Sucre chuckled. "Oye, Linc, I get why Sara can't return to Miami—Michael would kill us if we let her go back. But your son . . . maybe you should take him with you."

"But I don't want to keep dragging him down with me. He deserves better. What if the company tries to kill him?"

Sucre cupped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Remember what I told you when you called me? Ain't no way I'm going anywhere without my girls?" Sucre swallowed and looked him in the eye. "Family's everything. You gotta stick with your family, bro."

Lincoln sighed as he scrubbed a hand over his buzzed hair. "It's about to pour. Let's go inside."

"I'm gonna get the last suitcase from the car," Sucre said.

When Lincoln re-entered the house, he heard female voices from the side bedroom. LJ sat on the sofa, turned away from him.

He collapsed on the sofa next to his son. "Why do you want to go with me so bad?"

LJ swiveled and pressed his lips together. "What if you go up there, and I . . ." His voice shook. "I never see you again?"

Lincoln remembered when those glassy blue eyes had looked up at him, just like this time, but through the grating of a metal cage. LJ's mouth had curled into a sneer as he'd shot up from the plastic chair and spat, "You're dead to me."

How far they'd come.

Lincoln paused, then gathered him in a hug. "You're right. I won't leave you behind again, okay?"

"Okay." LJ's body went limp.

When Sara and Maricruz walked into the room, Lincoln rose. He wondered if Sara was still pissed off at him.

"Where's Lilah?" Sucre asked as he came inside.

Maricruz smiled. "Sleeping in the crib."

"There's a _crib_?" Sucre's eyes widened.

"Michael must've had it delivered with the other furniture," Sara said.

"I should've known." Sucre draped his arm across his wife's shoulders.

Lincoln cleared his throat. "I've decided to take LJ with me, but Sara . . . you need to stay here, okay?"

"I know." She looked down. "Maricruz said it's not just me to think about now. I have a family to consider."

"That's right, you're preggers!" Sucre grinned then winked at Lincoln. "Remember that boat in the warehouse, Linc? _When the boat's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin,_ huh?"

Maricruz punched his shoulder. "You're so crude. Our daughter's just in the other room."

Lincoln didn't miss a beat. "And when the conjugal room's a-rockin, don't come knockin' either."

LJ laughed when Maricruz's cheeks colored.

"Where's the kitchen?" she said. "I'm hungry. You got any cerezas, um, cherries?"

After Maricruz left, Sara crossed her arms. She stared at Lincoln. "Bring him back, okay? Bring him back soon."

He took a deep breath.

Sucre nodded. "Go get Papi."


	14. One Day

14\. One Day

 _She stood facing the ocean, her lithe frame silhouetted by the rising sun's fiery red-orange glow. One hand shielded her eyes from the morning light, while the other cradled an infant._

 _The sand scrunched between his eight toes as he crept up behind her. He didn't want to disturb her peaceful reverie. Though woozy from traveling all night, Michael knew she was holding their child. His child._

 _The ocean breeze swayed her white linen dress, billowing it behind her, and the light material grazed his shins as he stepped into her aura._

" _You're so beautiful."_

 _She gasped and almost knocked into him as she spun around. Her awed eyes were transfixed on him. She placed her hand on his heart and patted a few times like she was testing his realness._

 _He scooped her hand into both of his, drew her fingers to his lips, and planted a kiss on her tanned skin. "It's real, Sara. We're real." Her eyes were still wide "I'm real. It's that simple."_

 _She seemed to snap out of her daze. "We've never kept_ anything _simple."_

 _He laughed. God, it was good to see her. He embraced her, mindful of the sleeping baby between them._

" _I thought you were dead," she cried as she dug her fingers into his shoulder._

 _His healed hands smoothed across the lean planes of her back. "And I thought I'd failed to break you out. Thought you were still in prison. Thought your life was still in danger."_

 _She pulled back and gave him a quizzical look._

" _That FBI agent, Todd—he lied to me when I woke up in the hospital room. He told me you were captured in the escape."_

" _Oh, Michael. That's awful."_

" _It's okay, though. A kind physician told me the truth. She told me you were safe."_

 _One eyebrow arched. "_ She _told you? The physician was female?"_

 _What was that glower in her eyes? She was jealous? "Oh!" He grinned. "Don't worry, Sara. This doctor has ethics, scruples. She didn't fall in love with her patient."_

 _He watched her eyes narrow and lips purse. She looked at the baby. "C'mon Veronica, let's get away from your father. Lincoln should've left him in Florida." She stomped back to the bungalow, sending sand flying with each footfall._

 _Michael caught her before she'd made it five feet. He latched onto her elbow and gazed down at the precious bundle. "We have a daughter?"_

 _Sara blinked up at him. "Yes. She has your eyes. You can't see them now, but Veronica has your blue eyes."_

 _He felt tears form as he looked from his daughter to his wife and back to his daughter again. "I'm happy now." He grasped her chin between the pad of his thumb and forefinger and leaned down to kiss her._

 _The touch of her soft lips was like a homecoming, and he closed his eyes, flooded by the perfect moment . . . the pounding surf, calls of seagulls, warmth on his skin, grainy sand under his feet, brightening morning light . . . but mostly all he felt was the touch of his daughter's tiny leg pressing into his belly as he kissed his wife. They had made it. His family had made it._

As Michael's eyelids fluttered open, a smile spread across his face. One day . . . one day that dream would become a reality. One day he'd reunite with his family.

"Sweet dreams?" a mocking voice came from the side of the bed.

As he turned to find Agent Wheatley glaring at him, his smile vanished. The man was a visual reminder that _one day_ was not to be today. _One day_ would not be any day soon, judging by his circumstances. Michael sighed and looked down at his bandaged hands.

Todd stepped closer. "If I knew you talked in your sleep, I would've set up camp here long ago."

Michael snapped his gaze toward the agent as his heart dropped. _Talked in your sleep?_ Had he talked in his sleep? He didn't do that, did he? He'd slept alone all his life—how would he know? Sucre hadn't said anything about it in Fox River. Was it the pain medication loosening his lips?

"I _knew_ it," Todd seethed, his mouth setting into a stiff line. "I knew you somehow found out your wife escaped."

His stomach flipped. Apparently he did indeed talk in his sleep. "It was Blue! He brought me a newspaper—"

"Bullshit. I've blocked every one of his requests to get in here. It couldn't have been Blue."

Michael's eyes clouded over. "You've blocked my attorney from seeing me?"

"Don't change the subject, Scofield! You've just indicted Karina—don't try to deny it. She went against a direct order when she told you about the escape. No wonder you haven't cooperated."

Slumped against the mattress, Michael tried to think. He'd just put another female physician in danger.

Todd shook his head. "Another criminal charge for a woman trapped in your web. You sure like to _use_ people, don't you?"

"I find that accusation very interesting coming from _you_ , Todd. How dare you lie about my wife being in danger just to pump me for information about the escape! How do you sleep at night?"

"Without being handcuffed to the bed, I'll tell you that much. I'm not the one under arrest!"

"What's going on here?"

The female voice halted their shouts, and Michael blew out a breath when he saw Karina just inside the door. Her dark-blond ponytail swayed as she turned to look at each man in turn.

"Well if it isn't the good doctor," Todd crowed. "Just in time—I have some questions for you."

She snuck a glance at Michael, who gave a slight shake of his head. His wide eyes seemed full of guilt.

Todd moved toward the door, forcing Karina to turn around with her back to Michael.

"I know you'll be honest with me, so I'll get right to it," Todd said. "Did you tell Mr. Scofield his wife escaped?"

Karina's heart pounded and her face flushed. She'd dreaded this moment, and now it was here. She didn't even consider lying. "Yes, I did."

From the corner of his eye Todd could see Michael's head dip down. Todd's hands found his hips as he glared at her. "You interfered with a federal investigation!"

Her blinks came rapid-fire.

"Have you heard of aiding and abetting charges? Because you're about to get intimately acquainted with them."

Her eyes got huge.

"Now wait a minute, Todd!" Michael looked up, incensed. "There's no way she's an accomplice to my crimes."

"Then I'll charge her as an accessory. No doubt I'll find a charge that'll stick. You're in big trouble, Doctor."

Michael watched Karina's hands tremble as they covered her face. Searching for some way to help her, he blurted, "And you're not following the law yourself, Todd!"

He had Todd's full attention, and he barreled forward. "If you insist on slapping Karina with some trumped-up charge, then I'll make a huge stink about blocking my attorney's visits." The corner of Michael's mouth curled up in a smirk. "Have you heard about criminals getting off on technicalities? Because you're about to become intimately acquainted with them."

"Shut your trap, Scofield!" Why did he have to arrest a _genius?_ Michael was giving him a headache. He looked at Karina. "Fine. I'll consult with Legal before I charge you with anything, but one thing I _can_ do is remove you from this hospital. You're fired. Get your crap and get out of here."

Her mouth dropped open. "I'm fired?"

"You don't have the authority to do that!" Michael yelled.

"I sure do, Scofield." His jaw clenched. "Leave now."

"But I need this job!" Karina pleaded. "My son . . ."

"Do we need security to escort you out?"

She swallowed.

Michael said, "I'm so sorry, Karina. I was talking in my sleep . . ."

"It's not your fault." Somehow she managed to keep her tears at bay. "I'm the one who decided to tell you about Sara." She pulled her shoulders back and tried to stuff down her fear.

"Let's go." Todd headed to the door.

She gave Michael a sad smile. "Good luck to you."

After they left, he strained against the cuffs and chains until his face reddened from exertion. The clanging and scraping of metal against bed rails, combined with screaming criticism in his mind, created a cacophony of self-hatred.

Finally he gave up and lay limp against the mattress. He'd done it again. He'd ruined another person's life. He wondered how many more people he'd take down before he was through.

After a brief stop to clear her locker, Karina made it to the hospital exit. She shrugged out of Todd's grip on her white doctor coat, and didn't say a word as she strode out the door.

"Don't leave Miami!" he called. "We'll need to speak with you about criminal charges!"

Her face lit on fire as a few nearby patients stared. She was able to make it to a bench before collapsing and erupting into sobs. She held her face in her hands and felt tears flow through her fingers. How would she support her son now? Would the FBI blacklist her at other hospitals? Had she just ruined her career?

She wept for several minutes, letting it all out, before a hand clasped her wrist. Through blurry tears she made out short, messy fingernails. She looked up to find a broad-chested man kneeling in front of her, his eyes creased with worry.

"Are you okay?"

She glanced behind him to see a teenage boy with his hands jammed into his jean pockets. The boy's eyes were a crystalline blue, reminding her of the patient she'd just abandoned. She looked back at the man and drew in a sharp breath. "My God, you're Lincoln Burrows."


	15. Todd the Rod

15\. Todd the Rod

Lincoln took a furtive glance at the people near the hospital entrance. He wondered if they'd heard the doctor say his name.

"It's okay, Dad," LJ said. "You don't have to look over your shoulder anymore. You were exonerated, remember?"

"Tell that to the FBI prick, Wheatley. I'm sure he'd like to get me behind bars again." When the woman's eyes widened, he added, "Sorry, uh, doc. Are you gonna be okay? What's got you crying?"

Karina gave a tight smile. "That prick you mentioned? Well, he just fired me."

"Wheatley's _here?_ So Michael's gotta be here, right? Blue wasn't sure if he'd been moved."

"Michael is here." She wiped under her eyes as she sniffed.

Lincoln's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"

"Because I was his doctor."

"You're a cancer doctor, huh?" Lincoln asked.

"It's called oncology, Dad."

Reading the doctor's look of puzzlement, Lincoln said, "LJ takes after his uncle, not me, in the brains department."

"No—I wasn't confused by that," Karina said. "I was wondering why you thought I was an oncologist." She tilted her head to one side. "Oh! The tumor!" She grinned. "You'll be happy to know Michael's tumor is gone now."

Lincoln's brows furrowed, then he shot to his feet. "C'mon LJ, we're outta here."

Karina stared up at the tall figure towering over her, blocking the sun. "Wait! I can help you get to Michael."

"Stuff it, lady—you're a doctor for the company, I know it. You didn't get the tumor out the first time, and it sure as hell ain't gone now either."

She watched Lincoln stride away with his son in tow. "He's not in Oncology—he's on the Burn Unit!"

Lincoln wheeled around. "The burn unit? Why?"

She got up from the bench. "The electrical current in the prison." His deep-blue eyes bore into her. "It . . . burned Michael's hands and forearms."

LJ gasped and Lincoln's jaw clenched.

She added, "The burns are rather severe, but I hope he'll regain functioning. The good news is that the electricity seems to have eradicated the hypothalamic tumor."

Lincoln dipped his chin. "The electricity did _what_ to the tumor?"

"It zapped it," she said. "The electricity zapped the tumor out of his head."

"Cooool," LJ marveled.

"So he's not going to die?" Lincoln leaned forward. "Sara thought we could get him back for maybe just a short time, but she'll be so stoked when she finds out . . ." He looked up, remembering he still didn't trust the woman.

"Michael's not going to die," she promised. "And he needs your help more than ever, because when he lost the tumor, he also lost his LLI."

Lincoln continued to eye her. His tongue darted out and swept across his lower lip. "What did he think about losing the LLI?"

She stared at his mouth. "He had mixed feelings, I guess. You'd know more than me, but apparently the condition made him different, gave him headaches. So he won't miss that. However, he's worried he might need the LLI someday—to outmaneuver the government or to save someone he loves. He told me the LLI helped him break you and Sara out of prison."

 _That sounds like Michael_. Lincoln's shoulders relaxed.

"Does it hurt him?" LJ asked. "The burns—do they hurt?"

"Afraid so. Burns can be terribly painful."

LJ looked down at his shoes.

Lincoln had one final test for the doctor. "Did Michael complain about the pain?"

"Not once. He seemed to think he deserved the pain. And he was mostly on a high that you two and Sara were safe; that his plans had worked. He didn't really care about what happened to him."

That was _definitely_ Michael. She must have earned his trust for her to know all of those details about his personality. The sharp crease in Lincoln's forehead smoothed out, and he allowed himself a good look at her. She was tall—almost as tall as him. Her long blond hair was tied in a loose ponytail, and her brown eyes seemed intelligent. The white doctor coat did little to hide her buxom chest and curvy hips.

"You know a lot about my brother," Lincoln said. "Why did Wheatley fire you?"

Color rose to her cheeks. "I disobeyed him."

Lincoln grinned. "I like you already. What happened?"

"When Michael woke up, Todd told him Sara was recaptured. He said her life was in danger, but Michael could save her if he shared everything about the escape."

Both Burrows had dropped their jaws upon hearing the cruelty of the FBI agent.

"How'd Uncle Mike react?" LJ asked.

She swallowed. "Not well."

"I'm gonna stick a rod up Todd's ass," Lincoln fumed.

She nodded. "I couldn't just stand there and watch Michael suffer, so I told him Todd lied. Told him Sara _had_ escaped."

"And that's when the prick fired you," Lincoln surmised.

"Yes." She bit her lip. "Michael kept it secret for a while, going along with Todd and telling him how he broke Sara out—I wouldn't be surprised if he made up most of it—but in the end Todd found out the truth. He said he's going to charge me as an accessory to the escape."

" _What?"_ Lincoln's mouth tightened. "That's bullshit!"

"Can he do that?" asked LJ.

"I don't know. I'm going to call an attorney, though it'll be tough to pay legal fees considering I just lost my job. Which reminds me—I need to call my boss to make sure Todd really has the authority to fire me."

The three stood to the side of the hospital entrance, contemplating the threat of the FBI. Karina ran her thumb over her hospital ID badge that hung from a lanyard around her neck. She straightened. "I still have my ID! They're supposed to take it when they fire us, but Todd didn't know that."

"Great, you can sneak us in there." Lincoln studied the sliding glass doors. "I gotta ask Michael how to get him out. Let's go."

"Hold on!" She didn't budge. "He's under heavy guard—we can't just waltz in there. And maybe they already changed the ID swipe code."

"That's why we have to hurry!" Lincoln clutched her elbow. "We'll figure it out inside."

"Get your hands off me."

Lincoln stepped closer and tried to use his height advantage to intimidate her. "Move it, doc. Time's a wasting."

She glared at him. "My son's almost as big as you are, and I don't take _his_ shit, so I'm not taking yours, either."

Lincoln took a step back while LJ laughed.

"We need a _plan,"_ she said. "We can't go running in there like some castrated bull, crashing into crash carts."

"Who're you calling castrated?"

LJ continued to laugh.

"Nobody's castrated, okay? I just want us to think this through. You're right—Wheatley's itching to arrest you. Let's not give him the chance, okay? It's won't help anything if both brothers are in jail."

Lincoln took a deep breath. "I just have to see him." His voice lowered. "I gotta see him for myself."

"I'm sure you do." She sighed. "I think Michael wanted to die, to save you and Sara from watching the tumor take his life. And now that he survived, he's not quite sure what to do with himself. He needs you, Lincoln. He needs his brother to help him get back his fight."

Lincoln nodded. It was good to feel needed by Michael. Ever since they were kids, taking care of his little brother was all he knew.

"If we're going to work together," Lincoln said, "you better tell me your name."

"Oh! I'm Karina. Karina Daniels."

She could feel the strength of his grip when he shook her hand. The man oozed masculinity.

Lincoln gestured behind him. "And you've already met my son, LJ."

She smiled at him. "It's a pleasure, LJ."

"So what kind of plan?" Lincoln asked.

"You're way more experienced at this than I am—what do you think?"

"I have to know what we're getting into. How many guards? They got him cuffed to the bed?"

Karina explained the details of Michael's incarceration, ending with "I think you could get in there with some sort of disguise."

Lincoln shrugged. "Police uniforms worked out good once."

She imagined his chiseled chest in a form-fitting black tunic, his muscular butt tightly molded by black pants, and a police hat slung low across his forehead. "Yeah . . ."

"Earth to Karina?" LJ waved his hand in front of her face.

She shook her head. "A police uniform could work."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading!


	16. Eagles and Angels

16\. Eagles and Angels

When Lincoln emerged from the bedroom, LJ took one look at him and cracked up.

Karina scurried out right behind Lincoln. "Does the disguise look unrealistic?"

LJ simmered down, once he noticed his father's scowl, and looked closer at the physician get-up. His black hair was powdered grey, accompanied by a full grey beard and wire-rimmed spectacles. His bulging biceps were crammed into Karina's white doctor's coat, complete with a stethoscope and sea-green scrubs underneath.

"Is there any way to get a bigger coat?" LJ asked. "He looks all stuffed into that one."

"There's not enough time." Karina held up her badge. "By the time we get back to the hospital, they might've already changed the security codes."

"It's a good thing you live close to the hospital," Lincoln said.

"And you've got a sweet view," LJ added as he gestured out the balcony at the inter-coastal waterway. He'd checked out the two-bedroom apartment while Karina was helping his father morph into Dr. Burrows, and the dark-blue bedroom with _World of Warcraft_ posters intrigued him. "Why don't you have a house?" he asked.

Karina said, "Oh, we sold our house a long time ago, when . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Lincoln's powdered grey eyebrows furrowed as he exchanged a puzzled glance with his son, while Karina hustled toward the door.

"We better get going," she said. She halted when the front door swung open. "Ben!"

A tall, dirty-blond-haired boy entered the apartment. He stopped short when he saw two guests. "Mom?"

"What're you doing home from school so early?"

"Uh, why, uh, aren't you at work?" He blushed.

Her skin reddened to the same shade as her son's. "I asked you first. Are you cutting school again?"

"It's just Sister Regina's class. You know how much I hate religion."

"Benjamin Daniels. We've been over this—you're fifteen! You don't get to decide which classes you'll attend."

"Why can't I go to public school like my friends?" Ben whined.

"Because Florida public schools are horrible! You have a good head on your shoulders—when you use it, that is—and I insist you get a first-class education. But _you_ insist on fighting me every step of the way. You're grounded to your room for the rest of the day." She pointed to his bedroom. "Go!"

He shuffled to his room with his head drooping as low as the backpack slung over his shoulder. He got the last word in, though, by slamming the door, shaking the flimsy apartment walls.

LJ fidgeted. He wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Sorry you had to see that." She forced a laugh. "Teenagers. I guess you two know what that's like, huh?"

Lincoln looked at LJ, who smirked. "Uh, not really," Lincoln said. "We argue about other stuff—like if I'll let LJ put his life in danger."

"Yeah," LJ said. "Or I get pissed when he forgets to tell me someone died."

Karina stared at LJ. "Wow. My first world problems must sound trivial to you."

He shrugged.

She glanced at her watch and then at Lincoln. "Sorry for the hold-up—let's get you to the hospital."

They were heading toward the door when LJ asked, "Is it okay if I stay here?"

Karina hesitated.

He added, "I won't get to see Uncle Mike anyway, and maybe Ben and I could play _World of Warcraft?"_

She bit her lip. "He not allowed to play computer games when he's grounded."

"Oh." LJ frowned.

"Maybe you _should_ stay," Lincoln said. "You didn't sleep at all on the plane, and you look beat." He turned to Karina. "Okay if he sacks out on your couch?"

"Sure. We probably won't be that long, anyway. Unless we get caught, that is."

Lincoln grinned. "Relax, Doc. I don't get caught."

LJ rolled his eyes. "Right, Dad."

As they left, Lincoln added, "Besides, you can get your husband to bail you out if we run into any trouble."

"I don't have a husband," LJ heard her say. Once the door shut, his eyebrows arched. Was his dad making the moves on Dr. Karina?

~~o * o~~

Lincoln's throat was dry as he strolled down the hospital corridor, attempting to look like he knew what the hell he was doing. So far Karina's ID badge had worked to open one set of doors, but he knew there'd be tougher security surrounding his high-profile brother. He had to keep the badge flipped around since they hadn't had time to create one for him. The synthetic beard itched his face, and he fought the urge to rip off the damn thing.

He slid up the cuff of the doctor coat to read his chicken-scratch writing on his wrist. _Right at the end of the hallway—Burn Unit._ He gasped when FBI agent Todd Wheatley rounded the corner and headed his way. Wheatley wore a smug expression along with his officious navy-blue business suit, and he winked at a passing nurse.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ . . . Lincoln's heart thundered. _Keep it cool_. Todd walked so quickly that he was almost on Lincoln when he halted. Lincoln stopped breathing—had he been made? Todd looked straight at him as he reached into his jacket pocket and looked at his phone.

Todd muttered "Shit," then answered his phone. "Yes, Warden Simms?"

 _Warden Simms?_ She was the Miami-Dade warden, and hearing her name made Lincoln lean in. But Wheatley had passed him and took swift strides in the opposite direction. All Lincoln could make out was "Yes, ma'am, on my way—got held up by Legal Affairs . . ."

Turning the corner, Lincoln grinned as he picked up the pace. He'd stood two feet away, but that FBI loser had no fucking clue who he was!

He had no problems swiping the ID badge to enter the burn unit, and the bustling hallway made it easy to blend in. Taking another left, he felt his spine tingle when he saw a police officer posted outside a room. He had no doubt which patient was inside.

 _Michael._

Shifting up the sleeve of his doctor's coat again, he reread Karina's instructions. He probably looked just like Michael had when he'd scanned his blueprint tattoo inside the walls of Fox River.

"Now or never." He blew out a breath. Pounding some asshole with his fists was easy. Convincing a cop he was an intelligent doctor would be near impossible. He grabbed a discarded half-full Styrofoam coffee cup and held it in front of his ID badge.

He approached the officer. "I'm here for the patient's wound cleaning and dressing change."

The officer looked him up and down. "Nobody told _me_ about it."

"Really? Well _I'm_ telling you—Agent Wheatley just sent me down here. I'm filling in till they get a replacement for Dr. Daniels."

"I better wait for permission first."

Lincoln frowned. "Listen, bud, I got to make rounds in twenty minutes. I don't have time to wait—Wheatley just went to see the warden so he's not here, anyway. The patient's got a thirteen percent BS and the burn might infiltrate the suck-cutinous tissue if we don't keep our eye on it. Now, will you get out of the way and let me do my damn job?"

His little speech had loosened his fake facial hair, and Lincoln panicked as he felt the glue of his grey moustache begin to release. He coughed into his fist while pressing the corner of the moustache back into place.

The officer eyed Lincoln's coffee cup. "Fine. You got twenty minutes. I'll get myself some coffee—that prisoner's not going anywhere anyways." He held the door open.

To Lincoln's consternation, another police officer stood right inside.

"Hey Larry." The officer led Lincoln into the room and spoke to his partner. "This is the new doc." He glanced at him. "What's your name?"

Lincoln coughed again. "Dr. Ryan." He looked at the bed and watched Michael's eyes fly open. Michael sat up when Lincoln added, "Dr. Archie Ryan."

"Can you cover for me, Larry?" the officer asked his partner. "I gotta get some coffee—I'm dying out here."

Lincoln moved to the side cabinets and scrounged around like he knew what he was looking for.

"The agent said we need to have coverage inside and outside."

"Wheatley ain't even here," the officer scoffed. "C'mon, I'll get _you_ some coffee, too."

After a few moments the partner nodded. "All right." He aimed a stern look at the prisoner. "Don't give the new doc any trouble, Scofield."

Michael barely contained his laughter. "Yes, boss."

Once the officers had left, Michael rasped "Linc."

"That's Dr. Ryan to you, son. Don't give me any trouble."

Their grins faded as Lincoln's gaze swept over his chains and bandaged hands.

"Is Sara okay?" Michael asked.

"Yeah."

"The baby?"

"They're fine."

"And LJ?"

Lincoln nodded as he tested the strength of the chains. "He's here with me. We ran into your doctor Karina—she helped me get in here—and LJ's at her place."

Michael said, "Flip your badge." When he saw Karina's photo, he groaned. "No."

"She wanted to help." He paused. "You heard about Sofia?"

Michael looked down. "Yeah." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Linc."

His eyes glittered with anger. "You know, we thought _you_ were dead, too. Sara . . . she, she was destroyed."

"I know."

"Why didn't you even say goodbye?"

Michael felt the force of his words, the crackle of ominous electricity in the air. He wondered if Lincoln would hit him.

Lincoln gripped the bed railing and itched to punch his brother. Michael didn't move as he watched him for several moments. Then Lincoln exhaled, pushed off the bed, and spun around. He left his broad back turned to his brother.

"You didn't even say goodbye," he forced out.

Michael's throat tightened. "Sorry. I couldn't tell you—I knew you'd try to stop me."

"Of course I would've!" He turned to face Michael. "There had to be another way."

"There wasn't, Linc. I had no time! They were going to kill her! I . . ." He sighed. "I knew I was going to die, anyway. At least this way Sara and the baby lived."

"What Karina said—is she right? The tumor's gone?"

"That's what she says." Michael shrugged.

Lincoln let out a long sigh as he scratched his face. "We were gonna disguise me as a police officer, you know, like we did for that Eagles and Angles benefit." He gazed off into the distance. "I was thinking about that. The Eagles were the cops who died on duty. And the Angels. . ." His deep voice cracked. "They're the ones who were left behind."

Several moments of silence passed. Michael asked, "Am I supposed to be an eagle in this scenario?"

"Well, you're sure as hell not an angel."

Michael looked down.

"How bad are the electrical burns?" asked Lincoln.

"Not too bad."

Lincoln grunted. "Just like getting two toes cut off wasn't too bad, huh?"

Michael said nothing.

"We don't got much time." He jangled the y-cuff. "How can we get you out of these?"

Michael's lips pressed together. "You're not breaking me out."

"Hey, I might not be a genius like you, but I can do this."

"No, Linc. If I break out, then they'll know Karina helped me. I'm not taking down another innocent person—I already got her fired. And, Sara's still a fugitive. We've got to work to clear her name."

" _What?"_ Lincoln's bellow made them both glance at the closed hospital room door. In a quieter voice, he hissed, "You'll just let them lock you up? You won't fight?"

"Hell yes, I'll fight—for Sara's freedom. I deserve to go to prison. She doesn't."

Lincoln folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. His brother's self-sacrificing shtick was growing old. "So how do you plan to free Sara, then?"

"Don't act so skeptical. The company's crumbling—this can work. Get in touch with Blue—"

"I already have. He said he can't get in here."

"That's what you have to work on. Todd's been blocking him from seeing me, but Blue has to find a way to get in here so we can take down the company. And you need to contact Paul Kellerman."

"Not _him_ ," Lincoln moaned.

"He's the reason you're exonerated, Linc. I know we couldn't find him when Sara was arrested, but you have to look for him. Paul might be the key to all of this."

"How much longer are you in the hospital?"

"Karina said the burns should take about three weeks to heal."

"Jesus. So you've only got two weeks before they cart you off to prison?"

Michael nodded. "And Todd said it'll be a supermax."

"Fuck." Lincoln swallowed, then looked at the door. "Better get out of here before that douchebag gets back."

The brothers looked at each other for a few moments before Lincoln leaned down to offer a makeshift hug.

Feeling Lincoln's strong arms loop around him as much as the chains would allow, Michael exhaled and relaxed for the first time in weeks. "Thanks for being here."

"You ever try to die sacrificing yourself for me or Sara again, I'll kill you."

Michael grinned as his brother straightened. "Linc? Could you do one more thing for me?"

"What's that?"

He ducked his head. "Could you, uh, make an origami flower and send it to Sara?" He lifted his bandaged hands. "I can't . . ."

"I'll do it," Lincoln promised. "Never made a flower before so it may turn out like shit."

"It's the thought that counts." Michael grinned.

They held each other's gaze, then Lincoln left.

The angel's visit had bolstered the eagle's faith.

Author's Note: Many thanks for reading!


	17. The Price

17\. The Price

The snorts from the infant in her arms melded with the lapping waves of low tide as Sara snuggled into the sand. She faced the glassy sea. It was her favorite time of day: that suspended hush right before the sun came up, like nature perched on the precipice of dawn.

The lightening shadows took her back to her days of residency, when she'd scurried down empty Chicago streets in a race to make it to the hospital on time. She'd passed by her nocturnal companions: early-morning joggers pounding out the miles, homeless people sleeping on concrete, and other crazy medical staff yawning on their way to or from work.

Those were heady days, med school and residency. She'd soaked in volumes of information every day, juggling the roles of student and professional, all the while saving time for the long line of loser boyfriends guaranteed to piss off her father. At first they were mere distractions—a thrilling ride on a motorcycle, a late night at a bar . . . nothing to deter her from her driving ambition to become a physician. But then Colin happened.

He was just a recreational user, or so he'd said. He'd told her he could take or leave drugs; _he_ was the one in control. He was clever, adventurous, and sexy, and she found herself doing inexplicable things by his side. The further she strayed from the proper conduct of a governor's daughter, the more enticed and electrified she felt. The first time she'd tried heroin, the rush through her veins stole away all her stress, all her pain.

When she was high, she didn't feel the pressure of board exams. She was numb to her deep longing for her mother's love—the cavernous hole inside that no amount of drugs, sex, or food could fill. She didn't suffer from her father's disappointment. And most of all, when she was high, she didn't hate her parents for putting her second to their passions: her mother's desire to drink herself to death and her father's political career.

Like Colin, she'd also thought she was the one in control. She'd figured out a way to conquer her painful feelings . . . a way not to feel at all. But she realized—too late—that control had slipped through her fingers as the drug had slipped through her veins, insidious and sweet _._ The first clue was her trembling hands, which she'd tried to hide from the attending physicians. Then, the nausea had made it harder to survive through a twelve-hour hospital shift.

The bottom dropped out when she'd stolen morphine from the medical supplies. It was wrong and she knew it, no matter how many rationalizations Colin had provided. Her little problem was no longer affecting only her. She'd fragrantly broken the law.

But it wasn't until that boy's bike crash that she'd grasped how far down she'd gone. Splayed out on the icy street, he hadn't moved, and she'd known he needed help. She could've provided such help if she hadn't been so fucking strung-out. The price of her addiction had become far too high.

Lilah sighed, and Sara looked down at her little brown face. She frowned when a tear splashed on Lilah's forehead. When had she started crying? She stroked the baby's forehead and delicate cheeks. As she gazed at the ocean, the breeze dried her tears.

She supposed she'd been attracted to Michael for much the same reasons as Colin. He was clever, adventurous, and sexy—a dangerous bad boy her father would detest. But those surface traits didn't tell the whole story of a man who was deeper and more complex than a fathomless ocean. Underneath that handsome, arrogant exterior, Michael was nothing like Colin. He was the boy who'd survived abuse to become a polished professional. He'd helped Chicago's inner-city children. Most important, he'd sacrificed himself to save his brother, then his wife.

There'd been a price to getting involved with Michael, too. She'd suffered devastating losses, including her career and her freedom. The company had murdered her father. She'd relapsed. Despite the steep price of falling in love with Michael, she'd paid it willingly. She'd pay it again if given the chance. She'd give everything she owned to be with him again, together.

The price of love . . .

"Did you kidnap our baby again, Sara?"

Broken from her reverie, she shook her head and smiled at the couple approaching her. Maricruz sat to one side and Fernando the other.

Sara shrugged. "Guess I'm monopolizing Lilah again."

"That's alright." Maricruz grinned. "She loves you. And _I_ love a little break now and then."

"So what brings you out here so early, Doc?" asked Sucre.

Sara hid a smirk. "Got kind of loud in the house this morning. Sounded like you two were making more Lilahs?"

A flush colored Maricruz's cheeks.

Sara added, "But no worries—I go to bed so early, I really can't sleep in."

"I remember the first trimester." Maricruz nodded. "I was so exhausted."

"You were?" Sucre asked. When she nodded, he said, "Lo siento (I'm sorry) Mari. I should've been there with you."

Sara knew what it was like to face the terror of pregnancy alone, without the father to lean on. When Lilah whimpered, she tugged the blanket a little higher over her tiny hands.

Maricruz flashed her signature dimple. "I forgive you, Fernando. The only reason you robbed that store was to do nice things for me. But you don't need to take me out to fancy restaurants, or buy me a shiny ring—being with you is all I want."

Sucre beamed.

Sara wondered if she should return to the bungalow and leave the lovers in peace. Maybe they wanted to move their baby-making out to the sand.

"So what're you thinking about out here?" Sucre asked her.

Sara stared at the ocean. "Regrets."

He picked up a stick and drew swirling patterns in the sand. "I got some of those, too."

Sara listened to the cries of seagulls. "Do you know why I started working at Fox River?"

"Don't know why _anyone_ worked at that awful place," Maricruz said.

"It _was_ awful, but it felt—it felt like home, you know? It felt like I belonged there." Sara took a deep breath. "You see, I'm a drug addict."

Maricruz flinched.

Sucre said, "No Doc, no . . . _you?"_

"It's true." She swallowed. "After I left the infirmary door unlocked, I . . . I overdosed on morphine."

"Oh, Sara." Maricruz sighed, then leaned her head on Sara's shoulder.

"You don't have to tell us any more," Sucre said.

"But I want to tell you. I _need_ to tell you, if that's all right. I haven't been to N.A. in a long time, and talking about it's a way to stay clean." She hesitated, looking down and feeling tears pressing at the back of her eyes. "The truth is, when I thought Michael died, well, I couldn't stop craving morphine. And I'm pregnant—I didn't even care about the baby." The tears started flowing again. "I'm a horrible mother."

Maricruz drew in a sharp breath. "That's so untrue! You've been perfect with Lilah. When she had that fever, you knew exactly what to do. I feel so safe when she's with you."

"And look how good you take care of people, Doc." Sucre pointed to his shoulder. "You sewed me up real good after I got shot. And, you dealt with the biggest pain-in-the-ass patient of them all." He waited a beat. "Michael."

Despite her tears, that elicited a grin.

"Sorry." Sara half-sobbed, half-laughed. "I don't know why I'm crying so much."

"Hellooooo girl." Maricruz smacked her arm. "You're pregnant! You're like so hormonal now. Usually the husband's the one to deal with the mood swings, but like in my case, he'll have to be with you in spirit only. For now. But Michael will be here soon—I know it."

Sucre's forehead creased. "I'm actually kind of glad you're an addict."

"Fernando!" Maricruz glared at him.

"N-N-No, that didn't come out right. I'm not glad you had to deal with that, Doc. What I meant was . . . it's good to know you're not perfect—it's good to know you're one of us."

"I'm about as far from perfect as you can get," she said.

"That's not true. You're smart, you're pretty, and you're a real good doctor."

Sara blushed. She wished she could believe him.

He continued, "You should've seen Michael when he thought he lost you. He was a total wreck. I bet _he_ would've used drugs if he had the chance. There's no way you recover from something like that."

Sara looked at her husband's best friend, who stared back at her with guileless warmth. His uncomplicated sweetness was a godsend. She hadn't had many friends in her life, and she hoped the two Puerto Ricans next to her might be a good start.

Maricruz shrugged. "Don't be embarrassed about the drugs, Sara. It's part of your history—it's part of you. If you hadn't followed that path, well, then, you would've never met Michael."

Sara's eyes widened. She decided she liked that way of looking at it. "Thank you both for your friendship . . . it means a lot to me. And, thank you for loaning me this little one here. She's great practice for the future."

"Like you need practice," Maricruz teased.

"You sure it's okay she sleeps all the time?" Sucre asked.

Sara gave a knowing smile. "Preemies do that. Lilah's just catching up." Gazing down at the peaceful bundle in her arms, she added, "And I'd guess she has about thirty minutes or so till her next feeding, if you guys wanted to get back to, um, to what you were doing earlier."

He wiggled his eyebrows at his wife.

Maricruz hopped to her feet and swept sand off her skirt. But her eyes narrowed. "You think you're getting some of _this,_ you're wrong. You called _her_ pretty. You haven't called me that in days." She turned and stomped off toward the bungalow.

"But Mami!" Sucre ran after her. "You _are_ pretty! Eres hermosa, mi esposa . . ."

Sara chuckled as she watched a ball of fire rise over the horizon.

She leaned in to smell the baby's soft scent, and whispered, "Your parents are locos, Lilah." As she shifted on the sand, her hand drifted to her belly. She looked down at the slight bulge. "And _your_ parents are crazy too, little peanut. But that's the price you pay for coming into this world." Her lips curled into a wistful smile as she swayed her body to the ocean breeze and gently rocked both babies to sleep.


	18. The Sunshine State

18\. The Sunshine State

In Dr. Karina's apartment, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the sliding glass doors kept LJ awake. It also didn't help that the tropical weather reminded him of Panama, though at least Florida wasn't quite as steamy. He shifted on the sofa countless times but couldn't get comfortable. Finally he sighed and sat up, startled to find a tall boy staring at him from his bedroom door.

"Oh. Hey." LJ bolted off the sofa.

"Hey." Karina's son stared at him with light hazel eyes.

LJ stuck his hands in his pockets. "Sorry to crash your place—I'm LJ."

He pointed to himself. "Ben. Your grandpa . . . he's a doctor helping out my mom or something?"

LJ knitted his brows together for a moment before a huge grin spread across his face. "Grandpa?" He snorted. "That's my dad, actually. He's in disguise to try to see my uncle in the hospital. And he's certainly no doctor." LJ's laughter picked up tempo.

Ben crossed over and collapsed into a big chair, sprawling his gangly body. His Converse high-tops showcased feet almost clown-like in length. "So why'd he dress up like a doctor?"

Following his lead, LJ returned to the sofa. "He's trying to elude the FBI."

"Wow." Ben sat up.

LJ studied him. "You don't know who your mom's patient is, do you?"

Ben chewed on his lip. "All I know is she's been gone a lot—she always sleeps at the hospital. And then today she busts my grapes for not going to Religion, when I've skipped that class for a whole week and she didn't even notice. Classic."

"That sucks."

"Yeah." Ben looked down as he picked at his fingernails. "So who's her patient?"

LJ hesitated. "My uncle. Michael Scofield." Reading Ben's blank expression, he added, "You heard about that guy who broke his wife out of prison last week?"

Ben's eyes got big. "That's your _uncle?"_

LJ nodded.

"He's in the hospital? They said he was back in prison."

"He's hurt." LJ grimaced. "He's got burns."

Ben looked stricken as he leaned back in the chair. After a long silence, he asked, "You, um, you want to play _World of Warcraft?_ "

LJ shrugged. "My boys and I used to play it, before . . ." _Before I got caught selling pot, before my dad went to the chair, before I was framed for my mom's murder_ . . . "Uh, sure. But I thought your mom said you weren't allowed?"

"Screw that. She thinks the parental controls on my computer actually _work."_

LJ grinned as he followed Ben to his bedroom. He paused near a side table and pointed at a framed photograph of a large man with buzzed blond hair and intense blue eyes, dressed in a black uniform. "Who's that?"

When Ben halted, that same suffering look returned. "My dad."

LJ recalled Karina saying she didn't have a husband. "Your parents divorced?"

"No." He stepped into his bedroom and flipped on his computer.

Standing in the open bedroom doorway, LJ jammed his fists into his jean pockets. Should he enter? This guy alternated between warm and cool; friendly and aloof. He seemed smart, possibly harboring secrets. He appeared pissed off, but underneath the hostility seemed to be vulnerability, with tears just below the surface. In other words, he reminded LJ exactly of himself.

~~o * o~~

As Todd strolled into the administrative offices of Miami-Dade Federal Penitentiary, his stride hitched. The prisoner cuffed to the bench outside the warden's office was a total knockout. He felt a stirring in his groin as he neared. Her frosty ice-blue glare bit into him, piquing his interest all the more.

Ignoring her for a moment, he looked at the administrative assistant at the nearby desk. "I'm here to see Warden Simms."

Though the assistant's eyes appeared to plead with him to stay, she nodded. "They've been waiting for you—go on in."

 _They've_ been waiting? Todd entered the office and canvassed the room. Irritation built as he noticed Blue Phillips sitting across from the warden, and surprise overtook him once he identified the guest in the other chair. He'd only seen photos of the man, but his gruff, grandfatherly vibe sent off solid clues to his identity.

"Agent Wheatley." Alice spoke first as the three of them rose.

Todd crossed behind the desk to shake her hand, while Alice gestured to her guests. "I believe you've already met Blue Phillips, but please allow me to introduce Henry Pope, former warden at Fox River."

Todd shook Blue's hand and disregarded the daggers aimed his way. He then approached the older man dressed in a casual maroon button-down shirt and navy pants: the man supremely duped by Scofield. Todd would never let himself be so stupid.

"FBI Agent Todd Wheatley, Mr. Pope." When he pumped his hand, Henry's grip was unpredictably strong.

"Let's all sit at the conference table," Alice suggested.

The four crossed to the far corner of the room. Blue and Todd sat across from each other, as far apart as possible.

"What brings you to Miami, Mr. Pope?" Todd asked.

"My wife and I are vacationing."

"Henry came to provide support," Alice said as she smirked at him. "Only _we_ know what it's like to be schooled by Michael the Mastermind."

Todd grimaced. He had to admit the shitass mastermind had taught him a lesson or two already.

"And Henry happened to be in my office when some new evidence came to light. I invited both you and Blue here to review it," Alice continued.

Blue glared at Todd. "I rushed right over from the courthouse, where I was filing a complaint about you blocking me from seeing my client."

"I haven't blocked you," Todd scoffed. "The prisoner's been too sick to meet with counsel."

Henry seemed to bristle.

"Bullshit," Blue said. "Michael could talk just fine when I saw him."

"Gentlemen." Alice shook her head. "Please take your legal battles elsewhere—I have a prison to run. As I was saying, we got a piece of evidence from a prisoner that both of you will want to see."

"From the prisoner outside your office?" asked Todd.

"Yes."

"What's her name?"

"Gretchen Morgan," Henry supplied.

Todd recoiled. "That's the same prisoner we found in the courtyard the night of the escape."

"Good memory." Alice nodded. "She's also the prisoner who assaulted one of my guards that night, and therefore she's heading to the SHU. But not before she gave us _this."_ Alice pushed a newspaper clipping, encased in a plastic bag, toward the middle of the table.

Blue pounced on the bag and gasped when he read "100,000 DEAD" written next to Sara's photo.

"What is it?" Todd reached for the bag.

"So her life wasn't in danger, huh, _Todd?"_ Blue chucked the evidence toward him. "Scofield was making it all up?"

Todd studied the clipping through the plastic and felt his cheeks flush. "Gretchen Morgan had this?"

"Yes, in her pocket," Alice said.

"And she just gave it to you?"

Alice shook her head. "We told her we knew she worked for the company, and she faces a long sentence unless she gives us something useful. That's when she offered it up."

"How'd you know she works for the company? I've never heard that."

Henry sized up the FBI agent. "Then you haven't been doing your job."

Todd tensed. "My job is not to chase phantom organizations created in the fantasy world of Michael Scofield."

Henry exhaled. "Alex Mahone _told_ me you'd be obstinate—he told me you'd deny the company even existed. But I was hoping you'd be smarter than that. I was hoping you'd actually examine the evidence. Just dust that clipping for prints, and I'm sure you'll find Jonathan Krantz all over it."

"So, you're taking your cue from murderers now, Mr. Pope? I'd hardly call Alex Mahone a credible source. And where is he? I'd like to question him about the escape."

"It's true—Alex did murder at the behest of the company. They were holding his family's lives over his head. He confessed it all to me . . . but he's been exonerated for his crimes, along with Michael, Dr. Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows, and Fernando Sucre. They all captured an energy device—a device that could be used as a nuclear weapon, I might add—and wrestled it from the company to deliver to the UN."

Todd ignored the buzz of his cell phone, instead shaking his head at Blue as he jabbed his thumb toward Henry. "Wow. He really believes this shit."

Blue leaned forward. "That's because it's true, Agent Wheatley. We have witnesses to back it up."

"Gretchen Morgan and Jonathan Krantz?" Todd dipped his chin. "You don't have witnesses—you have _prisoners;_ prisoners who will say anything to get out of here. And you can't rely on getting information from Christina Hampton, now that Sara's killed her in cold blood."

Alice watched their squabble with interest. She took the thick transcript from Sara Tancredi's trial onto her lap, and thumbed through it.

"Who's calling me, damn it." Todd reached into his jacket pocket and took out the phone. "Yes?"

"Agent Wheatley, this is Larry, uh, Officer Lutz."

"What is it?"

"Um, is there a replacement for Dr. Daniels coming soon? The prisoner's in a lot of pain."

Todd exhaled. "Is he complaining again?"

"Scofield didn't say a word, sir. But he's thrashing all around, kinda moaning, and he looks like hell."

"I'm in an important meeting—I'll have to take care of this later."

"How much later, sir? The temporary doctor—I don't think he gave him any meds?"

Todd narrowed his eyes. _"What_ temporary doctor?"

"The one you assigned? Dr., um, Dr. Ryan?"

"I haven't assigned a new doctor, idiot! You keep Scofield locked down. You keep him locked down till I arrive! I don't care _how_ much pain he's in."

Todd ended the call and looked up to find three sets of eyes glaring at him.

"My client's writhing in pain?" Blue's mouth tightened. "Where's Dr. Daniels?"

Todd smoothed his hand down his tie. "I fired her."

"You _fired_ her? You can't do that."

"She interfered with my investigation!"

Henry said, "So Michael doesn't have any medical care right now?"

"I was working on her replacement when I got called here. I'll get on it as soon as I return."

Blue exhaled through his nose, sounding like a furious bull. "Call the hospital right now, Todd, or this discussion's over. I'm going straight back to that judge unless you get my client a new physician, _now."_

Todd blinked several times before he crossed the room and punched numbers into his phone.

The three remained at the table and stared at each other. Henry cleared his throat. "Michael sure can get people going."

"Absolutely," Alice said. "And we get so upset when Michael outsmarts us that we turn a blind eye to the evidence." She looked at the transcript in her lap. "I'll try not to make the same mistake as Agent Wheatley."

Henry smiled at her. "Thank you, Alice. I promise you'll get real justice for the escape, once we take down the company. They're the real criminals."

There was a commotion outside, with female voices rising in pitch, and Alice tilted her head. When her intercom buzzed, she walked to her desk and picked up the phone.

"Warden? You've got more visitors."

Alice could hear a hissed accusation in the background, something like _You trampy whore!_ "They'll have to wait. I've got a full office."

"Please, Warden. I think the women might start fighting if you don't separate them?"

"Fine. I'm coming out there to see what this is all about." It appeared that yet another visitor had arrived to bring more sunshine to her office.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! It's been so long since I wrote this story that I've forgotten much of it. But I read ahead to the second half, and I have a lot of fun stuff in store for you. I wish I could edit the chapters more quickly than once a week, but I'm working on a self-imposed deadline for my novel.

Is anyone watching DC Legends of Tomorrow? It's fun to watch Went and Dom in alternate roles.


	19. In For an Inch

19\. In for an Inch

Alice Simms emerged from her office to find two women all but hissing at each other. One of them was Gretchen, still cuffed to the bench. The other was an unknown visitor who stood just outside of the reach Gretchen's kick circumference.

Alice watched Gretchen smile at the woman. "You're here to see Dr. Evil?" She cocked her head to the exit. "Your daddy's on the _other_ side of the pen, bitch."

Dressed in a crisp dark business suit and heels, the brown-haired woman nodded at Gretchen's scruffy grey sweatshirt and red pants. "My, those clothes do _wonders_ for your figure. I've been waiting for fate to catch up to you. You're exactly where you deserve to be."

"Oh, I won't be here long." Gretchen smirked. "And Papa won't be able to protect you once I'm out."

The woman laughed darkly. "Maybe you should worry about your _own_ protection."

Alice wondered if she should call a CO to break up the catfight. If things got physical, she'd definitely bet on Gretch.

"Warden?" When the administrative assistant spoke up, the women looked her way. "Would you like me to show in your visitors?"

Alice now noticed a tall, burly man off to the side. Was he with the well-dressed woman? With a shake of her perfectly-coiffed long brown hair, the woman turned to face Alice. "Warden Simms." She strode toward her while extending her hand. "My name's Lisa Tabak."

Alice noticed that the man had shuffled over, and now towered behind Lisa. A bodyguard? She looked into the woman's cold blue eyes as they shook hands.

Lisa swallowed. "I'm the daughter of Jonathan Krantz."

"Ah." Alice nodded. She watched Gretchen's jaw drop as she strained against the cuffs in an apparent effort to overhear their conversation. It appeared the two women had some sort of history.

Lisa inched in closer. "May I speak with you privately, Warden?"

Alice stared at her for a moment, then gestured to her office. "Good timing. I believe there are some people inside who'd like to speak with _you."_

Lisa bristled. "And who might that be?"

"The attorney for Michael Scofield, for one."

She seemed pleased by this revelation. "Okay."

"As well as the FBI."

Lisa's lips parted as her heartbeat kicked into overdrive. "I don't know if I'm ready . . ." She looked over her shoulder at her bodyguard, but his impassive face revealed nothing. Turning back to face Alice, Lisa let out a long sigh and squared her shoulders. _In for an inch, in for a mile._ "Very well. Let's go."

"He will remain out here." Alice pointed at the man.

Lisa pondered that for a moment and then nodded at him. "Stay away from _her_."

All three looked at Gretchen, who responded with a lazy, bewitching grin.

Gretchen couldn't believe Lisa had revealed her identity. Watching Jonathan's devil-spawn enter the office where the FBI awaited, she wondered if the population of Miami-Dade Women's Penitentiary was about to increase by one.

~~o * o~~

Karina and Lincoln laughed as they burst into the apartment.

"I can't believe that disguise worked!" she marveled. She saw LJ rise from the sofa and yawn. "Oh! Sorry, did I wake you?"

"That's okay."

Lincoln eyed his son, observing his ruddy cheeks and noticeable lack of bed-head. LJ was also breathing hard. He asked, "Bad dream?"

"Um, no?"

"You don't look like you've slept at all."

LJ shrugged. "I tried."

A muffled sound came from Ben's bedroom. Lincoln licked his lip as he sat on the back of the sofa. He'd removed the scratchy fake beard but his eyebrows and hair were still powdered grey. His furrowed brow relaxed. "You were in Ben's room just now, weren't you?"

LJ's startled eyes bounced up to his father. "Yeah." He jutted out his chin. "So? That's not a crime."

"Then why'd you pretend you were sleeping?"

Karina knocked on her son's door before opening it to find him sitting at his desk, engrossed in his Biology book. "Hi Ben. Did you get to meet LJ?"

"Nope." He looked up too late to see wide-eyed LJ shake his head. _Crap!_ They should've gotten their stories straight, but his mom had come in the apartment too fast.

"Funny." Karina folded her arms across her buxom chest. "LJ seems to have met _you."_ She waved them into the bedroom. "Ben, this is Lincoln Burrows and his son LJ—they're, uh, friends of mine. I'm sorry I didn't get to introduce you before we had to leave."

"That's okay, Mom," Ben said.

"Why'd you pretend you hadn't met LJ?"

Ben squirmed. "Um . . ."

"Were you doing something you weren't supposed to?"

"It's cool, Mom, don't worry."

"Were you playing _World of Warcraft_ on your computer?"

"Uh, um . . ."

Karina's eyes narrowed as she pointed at the tower under his desk. "If I touch your hard drive, will it be cold or warm?"

Ben's shoulders drooped. "Warm."

"Benjamin Daniels! What's gotten into you?"

He slumped in his desk chair.

In a softer tone, Karina said, "I'd like you to do what I asked and stay in your room, without using the computer. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

Still looking down, he nodded.

The three walked out of the room, and Karina closed the door behind them.

She cleared her throat. "Sorry 'bout that—he is having a bad day, I guess. Typically he's a wonderful young man."

Lincoln leaned in. "Don't be too hard on him—at least they weren't looking at porn."

Karina flinched. She hadn't even considered that. Looking into Lincoln's bemused blue eyes, she felt unnerved by his proximity.

She gestured to the sofa. "Please have a seat while I get you some drinks."

Lincoln shook his head and stepped toward the front door. "We're fine, Karina—we'll just get out of your hair. We've ruined your life enough for one day."

"Nonsense," she countered. "I'd love for you to stay. I'd love for you to meet my _real_ son, once he gets over his snarky attitude."

"I don't think we have that long." Lincoln winked.

It took a second before Karina grinned. "Maybe not—but I can always hope, right?" Her smile lighted on LJ. "I do think Ben likes you already. You two have a lot in common. Have a seat and I'll be right back."

She was gone in a flash to the kitchen, leaving Lincoln and LJ no choice but to stare at each other before sitting on the sofa.

"How's Uncle Mike?" asked LJ.

Lincoln frowned. "Not so good. I couldn't see his hands—they were all wrapped up—but he . . ."

"Can you break him out?"

He exhaled. "He doesn't want me to. All he cares about is getting Sara off the hook."

"Can he do that?"

"Dunno. I wish he'd care about himself, for once."

Karina returned with glasses full of ice and cans of soda. Cracking open one can, LJ poured himself a coke.

Lincoln nudged him. "We appreciate the drinks, Karina."

LJ mumbled, "Uh, thanks." After a moment he asked, "Why do you think Ben and I have a lot in common?"

"Apparently you two like the same computer games."

LJ grinned.

"And," Karina paused. "I'm not sure, but I think you've, you've both lost a parent." When he sucked in a breath, she feared she'd said too much. She remembered reading about LJ's exoneration for the murders of his mother and stepfather, and meeting him in person made it clear he'd been framed. This boy was no killer, and neither was his uncle. Lincoln's ferocious intensity made her less assured of his innocence, yet she knew there was goodness there, too.

"I thought maybe you were divorced," LJ said.

"No," Karina said. "His father, Benjamin Daniels Senior . . . he died a long time ago." Her gaze drifted to her husband's uniformed photo. "Ben was only three."

"You named him after his father," Lincoln said.

Karina's eyes met his, and found some solace there. She realized Lincoln had done the same with _his_ son. She wondered about LJ's mother. Had she been pretty? Had Lincoln loved her?

LJ sighed as he looked at Ben's closed bedroom door. "I feel sorta guilty for Ben being in trouble."

Karina's forehead creased. "Why?"

"He, uh, he said you haven't been around much the past week—because you've been taking care of _my_ uncle."

"Well, that is no excuse to skip class—"

"He thinks you don't care about him."

"What?" Karina recoiled. "He can't think that—that's ridiculous."

"He _does_ think that. Trust me."

Karina's lips parted and she blinked several times. In a second she disappeared into Ben's room.

Left alone, Lincoln frowned at his son. "Did you get _any_ sleep?"

LJ shook his head.

"I'm a crappy father, dragging you around like this." Lincoln glanced at Ben's room, then smoothed his knuckles over his irritated facial stubble, massaging his fingers along his jaw-line. He swallowed. "What you told Karina . . . about Ben thinking she doesn't care about him . . ." His voice trailed off as he groped for words. "I, uh, I know I wasn't there for you." He looked down and exhaled.

"I forgive you, Dad."

Stunned, Lincoln didn't move. Then he shook his head. "Too easy . . . that's too easy, LJ. I need to earn your forgiveness, and I haven't done it yet."

"What were you gonna do? You were on death row."

"What I'm trying to say is . . ." His voice took on an edge. "That I, I care about you. I know you must've questioned that at times, but I do."

LJ's upper lip trembled, and he averted his gaze. When he felt like he had it under control again, he said in a tight voice, "I know that. Otis Right."

Lincoln's eyes widened as he remembered crouching in the elevator shaft, staring down into the elevator car, his gaze bouncing from his son's frightened eyes to the FBI agent's cunning glare. That had been the first time he'd met Alex Mahone, and it hadn't been their last confrontation by any means. Lincoln remembered the feel of the light, plastic gun in his grip, still wet and sticky from the black spray paint . . . Michael's shoulder jammed up next to him as he aimed the real gun at Alex with no intention to shoot . . . the terror of the plastic gun slipping through his fingers as he tried to drag LJ up to him . . .

"I screwed that one up, too."

"You tried," LJ said. "It kept me going the whole drive to Arizona. You tried."

Lincoln rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. "I don't deserve you, kid."

With his whitened hair and eyebrows, he looked ancient. LJ started giggling, drawing his father's stare. "What?"

"Ben." LJ cackled. "He thought you were my grandpa at first. He s-s-saw your doctor get-up, and h-h-he . . ." LJ could barely speak, he was so convulsed with laughter.

Lincoln's mouth tightened. "I'm gonna beat that kid."

"Sure you can take him, Grandpa?"

Lincoln attacked him with lightning speed—surprising for an aging physician—and pinned him with a wrestling hold, pressing his face into the cushion. LJ continued laughing as he squirmed.

"Don't you dare call me Grandpa again."

"That all you got, Grandpa?" LJ wheezed, straining against his father's vice grip. During the skirmish they pushed the sofa against the end table and almost toppled a lamp, but Lincoln righted it at the last second.

LJ's laughter faded as Karina strode out of the bedroom. "What's going on here, boys? Did you just knock over my lamp?"

His voice muffled, LJ said, "Gramps did it, not me!"

Lincoln twisted him like a pretzel. "Stop calling me that, ingrate!"

Ben had also emerged from the bedroom and a flash of jealousy crossed his eyes.

"You can let me go now, Dad?" LJ pleaded.

Karina's cell phone rang, and she turned away from them to answer. Her smile dropped when she heard her boss's voice. "Yes, Chief?"

Lincoln let go of LJ once he heard the seriousness in her tone.

"Yes, sir . . . No, I didn't think it was right, but I . . . he what? Oh, no!"

The three stared at each other.

"Yes, sir, I'll go—wait. Can you wait a second?" Karina cupped the phone's microphone. "Ben, that's my boss. My patient needs me—he's in a lot of pain. Is it okay with you if I go to him now? If you want me to stay, I'll ask the chief to assign a new doctor."

Ben looked back and forth between his mother and the guests.

"We can stay for a while?" Lincoln offered. His shoulders tensed, knowing Michael was in pain.

Ben nodded. "It's okay, Mom—you can go."

"I meant what I said in there." She tilted her head to his bedroom. "You come first with me. I won't go if it's not okay with you."

"Go," he said.

She brought the phone back up to her ear. "I'll be there in ten minutes, Chief." Karina lunged for her doctor's coat. "I've gotta run!" She kissed Ben on the cheek. "I love you." She paused in front of Lincoln, unsure of how to say goodbye to him. She didn't know what they meant to each other.

"Mom?" Ben asked, breaking the moment. "Can we play computer games?"

"That's up to Lincoln." She headed out the door. "He's in charge now!"

Once she left, the three guys stood staring at each other. Lincoln shrugged. "Show me this _World of Warcraft_ game, Ben. I gotta see what all the hoopla's about."

~~o * o~~

Blue Phillips's jaw dropped as Lisa Tabak held up a flash drive. He said, "This has footage from the warehouse where Christina Hampton was shot?"

"But we already have surveillance video from there," Todd said.

Lisa smiled as she shook her head. "Not from _this_ camera, Agent Wheatley. This camera shows Christina aiming a weapon at Michael Scofield and Sara Tancredi. It proves Sara shot her in self-defense."

Blue squinted. "But there was only one camera in that warehouse. We saw the footage."

"There was only one camera by the time the police made it there," Lisa said, causing both Blue and Todd to blanch. Alice tapped her chin.

Quiet up to this point, Henry spat, "The company."

Lisa nodded. "Yes. My father's people got in and cleaned up before the police arrived. They're good at that."

"And where the hell did you get video from a phantom camera?" asked Todd.

"From my father's computer. There's some other information on that drive, about Christina, which you might find useful."

"Sounds like you know quite a bit about Jonathan Krantz's activities," Todd said. "Maybe I'll take _you_ in for questioning when we're done here."

She sighed. "I thought that might happen. But I have two requests. First, you have to protect from my father. If he finds out I'm talking to you, I'm a dead woman."

"Surely he wouldn't kill his own daughter?" Henry asked, aghast.

"You must not know my father."

"And your second request?" Todd prompted.

She glowered. "That _prisoner_ out there. You keep me away from her."

Alice cocked her head. "Gretchen Morgan? What do you have against her?"

"She's a whore," Lisa hissed.

"Yikes, tell us how you really feel." Blue laughed.

"She _seduced_ my father, the power-hungry skank. One time I caught her in a schoolgirl outfit, prancing through the house . . ." Lisa shuddered. "Anyway, she actually had a child by him. I have a nine year-old half-sister somewhere out there, thanks to her."

"So Inmate Morgan has a child fathered by Jonathan Krantz," Alice mused. "I had no idea." She exchanged a look with Henry as she wondered how they could use that information to their advantage. "But Ms. Tabak, I think your hatred toward Ms. Morgan might be misdirected. You two seem to have the same goal."

"What're you talking about, Warden?"

"Earlier this afternoon, Gretchen provided us with some damning evidence against your father. Just like you did."

Lisa's eyes widened.

"It sounds like Jonathan Krantz's world is caving down around him," Blue said.

Todd tried to focus but his supervisor's words ran a loop in his head. How was he supposed to know he didn't have the authority to fire Dr. Daniels? She'd interfered with his investigation! And his boss didn't even seem to care. _Do your job!_ his boss had shouted. _I don't care what you think Scofield's done in the past. Don't make assumptions about what's happening in the present. First the Coral Gables Chief's on my ass, then the circuit court judge tells me you're fucking up all over the place. Do your job, Wheatley. Examine the evidence, damn it!_

"Warden Simms," Todd said. "I'd like to look at that surveillance video on your computer."

Lisa held up the flash drive. "This video?"

"Yes, ma'am. May I see it?"

"Please." Lisa handed the device to the FBI agent, and Todd plugged it into the USB port.

"The file's marked 'CS'," Lisa offered.

Clicking on the video file, Todd repeated, "CS?"

Lisa pressed her lips together. "For Christina Scofield."

Four people gaped at her.

Lisa said, "She was Michael and Lincoln's mother. Well, in name only. My father ruined her. He changed her into a different person. He tried to brainwash Michael too, but he escaped. Michael escaped because I told Sara where to find him."

Blue took that in, and thought how Michael had returned the favor. Sara had escaped because Michael had known where to find her.

Lisa shook her head. "I was blind to the kind of man my father is. I was blind for so long. I'm sorry I didn't come forward sooner."

"You came forward now," Todd said. "Let's see what you brought us." Seated in Alice's desk chair, he double-clicked on the video file, while Alice, Henry, and Blue gathered around the computer. Already knowing what they'd see, Lisa sat at the conference table and stared straight ahead.

A grainy video popped up that showed a woman dressed in a classy off-white outfit. Her loose bronze curls rested on the lapel of her blazer, and her gold jewelry shined in the sunlight streaming into the warehouse. But all they focused on was the handgun she aimed at Michael. A smile crossed her face. She appeared poised to pull the trigger before a bullet ripped into her chest and sent her reeling backwards.

Todd clicked on the file again and they watched it a few more times. With each viewing it became more obvious that Christina was about to fire her weapon when she was shot. Looking up, Todd caught Henry's eye, and felt the challenge in the former warden's gaze. Would he finally acknowledge the company existed?

Todd rose from his chair. "Blue, you're free to go to your client. But first let's head to the DA's office to submit this new evidence."

Blue studied him. "I don't know. My client's been left alone too long."

"His medical needs are being attended to, don't worry," Todd assured him. "But if you want to head to the hospital now, I'll just take the evidence over myself." He removed the flash drive.

Blue seemed stuck in indecision.

Henry used the silence to butt in. "Go ahead, Blue. I'll wait with Michael."

Todd jolted. "The prisoner's not allowed visitors. It wouldn't be secure."

"You could authorize it, Agent Wheatley," Henry said. "I'm a former warden—of course it'll be secure."

Todd let out a loud sigh like the world was ending. "Fine—I'll notify the guards, but any funny business and I won't hesitate to arrest you, Mr. Pope." He turned to Lisa. "Ms. Tabak, we're taking you to Headquarters for further questioning. I'll radio another agent to pick you up."

Lisa pursed her lips.

"And Warden Simms, I'll be in touch. Do what you'd like with Gretchen Morgan, and I'll return soon to interview her."

"Very good, Todd." Alice smiled as she added the transcript of Sara Tancredi's trial to the growing pile of evidence on the conference table. "It looks like you have some reading to do."

"I intend to get to the bottom of this," Todd said.

"About damn time," Blue muttered.

~~o * o~~

The doctor's coat fit her perfectly, and when she'd slid it on, she'd breathed out with relief. _It looks a lot better on you than on Gramps,_ LJ had said as she'd hustled out of the apartment. _Ow!_ she'd heard next.

But it wasn't until she entered the Burn Unit that the feeling of homecoming was complete. Chief's revelation that Michael had been without medical care for hours lit a fire under her step.

She still couldn't believe she'd been fired. But now that was a thing of the past—she'd returned for her patient.

Panting, she jogged down the hall and entered through the door held open by the police officer. His partner looked up from the writhing prisoner with a _Please, help_ look. Her chest tightened when she saw Michael shaking on the bed, his eyes screwed shut. A sheen of sweat covered him, and his body radiated tension. His face was distorted in a mask of pain.

"I'm here, Michael!" She hustled to the supply drawer and shook out an IV bag of hydromorphone. In no time she'd switched it out for the empty hanging bag.

When he opened his eyes, tension seemed to drain from his face. The medication couldn't have taken effect that quickly, and she wondered if her presence was the reason for his relief. "You're back," he croaked.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. "I had no idea Wheatley didn't get a new physician for you. I was just hanging out with Lincoln and LJ . . . I could've been here—"

"Thank you, Doctor," he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper so the officer couldn't hear. "You let me see my brother."

Her smile was sad. "It meant so much to him."

Etches of pain lining his face began to ease, and she knew the medication had started to soothe the inflamed nerves of his hands and wrists. "I didn't know how much I needed this stuff." He frowned, then murmured, "It's a good thing Linc didn't try to break me out of here. I wouldn't have gotten far without my fix."

"You'll be okay," she assured him. "We'll wean you off the pain med when you're ready. You're not an addict just yet."

"Not that being an addict is a bad thing." The woman he loved was an addict. She'd cared for him when he'd been in a lot of pain, as well. He smiled at Karina. "Thank you for coming back."

Karina returned his smile, feeling more drawn in by the second. With her son's permission, she was inching closer and closer to the Burrows family. She was in for a mile.


	20. Hands

20\. Hands

 _I won't be made useless  
I won't be idle with despair  
I will gather myself around my faith  
For light does the darkness most fear._

 _~"Hands" by Jewel_

" _Karina's really great,"_ Lincoln had said during their phone conversation moments ago.

" _What's her specialty?"_ Sara had asked.

Lincoln's voice had dropped. _"Uh, she works on the burn unit."_

Sara's chest squeezed. When she halted her walk, she became more aware of the ocean breeze following the storm. Wet, chilly grains of sand shifted beneath her bare feet, and the light drizzle of rain prickled her face and neck. Grey clouds swirled over rolling waves and entranced her for several minutes, before she noticed the tension in her hands. She'd clutched her wrists so tightly that her arms ached.

Glancing down, she patted the skin of her hands as she imagined the damage second-degree burns could've caused. _His beautiful hands._ A sob caught in her throat. _His long, gentle, artistic fingers—tapping his leg, caressing her face, executing the brilliant ideas from his exceptional mind . . ._ When she envisioned those elegant hands destroyed by blisters and scars, she felt a tear slide down her cheek. Yet another loss from the raging war against the company. Yet another scar.

 _As law enforcement pounded on the jimmied door, Michael cradled her ears with those soft, loving hands. "You don't understand . . . this is the only way."_

 _Her eyes filled with confusion. "I'm not leaving unless you're coming with me."_

 _His hands darted to her belly and stroked her womb. "I_ am _coming with you."_

 _She gazed up at him, stunned by what he was saying. Somehow she managed, "I love you."_

" _I love you so much." He gave her a sad, tragic smile, and leaned down to plant a kiss on her trembling lips. The pressure of his thumbs near her temples competed with the frantic crush of his kiss. A sense of finality lingered between them as he spoke his last word: "Go."_

 _She stared at him, sickened._

" _Go, Sara."_

A seagull's piercing cry brought her back to the present, and emptiness engulfed her. She knew she should've been happy Michael was alive. But the pain of their ongoing separation still gnawed at her, fresh as the ozone scent of recent lightning strikes. And discovering he'd been seriously injured, in the process of saving her life, only magnified her desolation.

Thinking of Lincoln's words on the phone, Sara didn't care how great Karina was. _**I**_ _should be there with Michael, healing his wounds. It should be me!_

"Doc!"

She heard her name called over the pounding surf and turned to find Sucre jogging toward her. He carried something bulky.

Once he arrived at her spot, a few hundred yards from the bungalow, she couldn't help the irritation lacing her voice. "You don't have to babysit me, Fernando."

He ducked his head as he caught his breath. "Sorry. Linc told me not to leave you alone."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "The company. They could be here."

She straightened, almost at his height, with her chin up and her shoulders back. "I've dealt with them before."

"I know you have, Doc." His black eyes twinkled. "Just let me hang out with you—make sure you're safe? Don't want the Sink mad at me, you know."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "That'd be bad news for you, chico." She gestured at the bundle in his arms. "What do you have there?"

"A poncho for you, from Maricruz." He lifted the wool-blended cloak. "She said you shouldn't be out here without a coat."

As she reached for it, she noticed the bright red design splashed on the tan-colored poncho. "She's a good mother." She slipped the cozy cape over her head. Before she knew it, the comforting warmth of both the poncho and the Puerto Rican had filled her up inside, stealing away her emptiness.

"Want to walk a bit?"

Affability his middle name, he nodded. "Sure."

They strolled in silence for a while. She admired the nature vista restoring itself after the thunderstorm. When the drizzle stopped, the roiled froth of the ocean seemed to settle. The seagulls returned from wherever they'd been hiding.

"I was thinking about Michael's burns," she said.

He winced. "You think, Doc, they're as bad as the one on his back?"

"They're different. It was a steam burn on his shoulder blade, and these are electrical burns on his hands. The steam burn looked bad enough—I can't imagine . . ."

After walking a bit more, he said, "Geary's a real pendejo to burn Michael like that."

"Can it, Fernando. Michael already told me he got that burn himself."

"Oh." He lowered his head. "Sorry. I'm not sure what he's told you yet."

"There's probably still a lot I don't know." Sara remembered when Lincoln had let it slip that Michael was abused in foster care. Then her mind drifted to her conversation with Michael in the semi-truck, when she'd learned he'd pined for a _Millennium Falcon_ toy as a child, but instead got a build-it-yourself birdhouse. A few stray facts here and there—hardly sufficient knowledge about a man who was now her husband. There was still so much she didn't know.

Her eyes narrowed. "What else should I know? What _else_ did he lie about?"

"Um, uh . . ." Sucre looked away.

Sara folded her arms across her chest and refused to continue walking until he coughed up some answers.

He finally asked, "Did you, uh, know about Nika?"

Sara quirked one eyebrow. "His wife? Yes, I happened to catch them hugging outside the conjugal room."

"Ay, Dios." He chuckled. "Bet _that_ didn't go over so well."

"I might've stuck him extra hard with insulin that day." She smirked. "Of course I knew about Michael's wife. He had to get an annulment before marrying me."

"Ah, right." He nodded and kept walking. "You found out he was faking diabetes, too?"

She glared at him. The fact she'd failed to detect a patient's malingering still infuriated her. She spun around to head back to the bungalow, and he tagged along behind her. Changing the subject, she asked, "So you guys framed poor Officer Geary?"

"Oh, he deserved what he got." He nodded. "When Michael came through the wall, with the guard's shirt stuck to his back—the shirt was, like, still steaming." He shuddered. "He begged me to pull the shirt off, but I didn't want to. I knew it'd hurt like hell."

Sara gave a wistful look. "You've been a good friend to him."

"He saved my life."

Reading the fierceness in his eyes, she realized he hadn't meant that in a metaphorical sense. "He did? Michael saved your life?"

"In Utah. In Tooele. The cops blocked the roads, so we had to cross the river on foot, but the log gave way and I fell in."

"Oh, no! What happened?"

"My foot got trapped under the dead fall. The water was rising, the search dogs were closing in . . . we were screwed. I tried to get Michael to leave me, to let me go, but he wouldn't." His nose scrunched up. "Of course he wouldn't. At that point I thought Maricruz married my cousin—what was the point of going on? I begged Michael to save himself and let me die."

Sara's heartbeat accelerated.

"He told me to hold my breath and wave my hand when I ran out of air. My lungs were bursting and I thought I'd die. Then he pulled some McGyver shit at the last second to free my leg."

She laughed at his massive grin. "So which McGyver move was this?"

"He tried to explain it to me afterwards, but you know him, it was way over my head." He shrugged. "Something about rope and running my cousin Petey's motorcycle into the river." He shook his head. "Petey's still pissed off about his bike. His grin grew wider. "And then I found out Maricruz didn't marry that cabrón Hector after all."

"So Michael saved your life." She studied the grey waves. "He saved mine, too."

"And Linc's," he added. "And probably LJ too. He's good at saving lives."

Her voice was soft. "I hope he can save his own."

He rubbed her shoulder.

" _I'm_ certainly not saving him, stuck here in Costa Rica."

As they neared the bungalow, he looked into her eyes. "Papi needs you here, Doc. Needs to know you're safe. That's all he wanted."

"But didn't he want us to be together?" She blew out a breath. "Yes, we're both alive, and I'm grateful for that, but we're apart again! I don't know how much longer I can take this. He won't even see his own child—"

She couldn't get out another word. Her eyes widened as her hands shot to her abdomen and clutched her womb.

"What's wrong? You hurt?"

Her quick blinks didn't hide her terror. "I, I have to go inside." She hustled to the beach house with him hot on her heels. Once inside, she rushed to the bathroom and closed the door.

Maricruz came out of the baby's room with Lilah in her arms, at first smiling upon seeing her husband but stopping short when she saw his look of worry. "What is it?"

"It's Sara, Mami—she's got some pain in her stomach or something."

Maricruz inhaled. "It's not the baby, is it? Is the baby alright?"

"No sé."

They spoke in hushed Spanish for several minutes before Sara emerged from the bathroom, looking pale.

Meeting the Sucres' worried gazes, she tried to keep it together. "I'm . . . spotting," she admitted.

Maricruz gasped. "You're spotting?"

"It's okay." Her tone was reassuring. She only wished she felt reassured. "It happens in some pregnancies, and the baby turns out just fine. I'll be fine." Her panicked mind flashed through the stress of her pregnancy thus far—getting beaten, poisoned, shot at—and she felt her heart in her throat, knowing the effects of stress on a developing fetus.

"You'll be fine," he repeated.

Maricruz frowned.

Sara allowed Sucre to lead her over to the sofa. He hovered nearby.

Her hands smoothed over her growing bump as she remembered the dank basement of the Miami-Dade administration building. _"I_ am _coming with you."_ He'd sacrificed himself for her and her baby, and now that baby was in peril. What if something happened to their precious peanut? She could never live with herself.

 _Michael,_ she silently cried as she stroked her belly. The empty feeling returned.


	21. Bad Blood

21\. Bad Blood

"Dad, can we play too?"

Startled, Lincoln looked up from the computer screen to find LJ and Ben staring at him from the bedroom doorway. _Whoops_. He'd been so focused on his fantasy character progressing through each level that the real world had ceased to exist. He massaged his scalp. "But I was just about to attack with my crossbow. A few more minutes?"

Ben smirked. "Addictive, isn't it?"

"How 'bout you show LJ some of that biology textbook?" Lincoln suggested. "He missed his junior year of high school—he needs it."

"Daaad! You've been on the computer for over two hours now! It's our turn."

"Two _hours?"_ Lincoln winced. "Uh, sorry 'bout that."

"It's a good thing my mom's not home," Ben said. "She'd be all over your case about 'excessive screen time' turning your brain to mush."

Lincoln's brain _did_ feel rather soft and mushy. He forced himself to back away from the computer. "It's all yours. I gotta do some origami anyway. You got any colored paper?"

Ben nodded. He handed a pad of construction paper to Lincoln, then collapsed into his warm desk chair. He looked at Ben. "Wanna grab a chair from the kitchen and bring it in here? Let's sell the skins your Hunter got in the last round."

LJ returned, dragging a chair into the bedroom. He noticed his father folding a piece of red paper. "Whatcha working on, Dad?"

"Something your uncle asked me to make."

The three settled in to their respective tasks. After a while Ben turned to LJ. "So you really don't have to go to school?"

Lincoln lifted his gaze from the paper and exchanged a look with LJ.

"Um, nope, I guess."

"LJ _will_ be going to school soon," Lincoln added.

Ben frowned. "I wish _I'd_ been off school since June. That'd be sweet."

"Actually . . . " LJ shifted on the chair. "I haven't been to school since May."

"Why?"

Lincoln felt a catch in his throat as he watched his son squirm. This was _his_ fault—another sin of the father. He sighed, thinking about his own dad. Aldo had brought the company's wrath down on the Burrows family, and successive generations continued paying the price for his mistake. "LJ's been through some bad things, Ben. He'd probably rather be in school right now than go through what he's faced."

"It _must've_ been bad if you'd rather be in school," Ben said.

LJ didn't flinch. "Me and my dad were framed for murder."

Ben's eyes widened like a _World of Warcraft_ mage, and he leaned back.

Lincoln watched Ben's reaction and felt a stab of pity for his son. He'd had to deal with people recoiling from him any time they recognized him, and now his son had inherited that mistrust as well.

"I watched them kill my mom, right in front of me." LJ's voice sounded numb. "Then they framed me for her murder."

Ben's mouth dropped open.

"LJ." Lincoln frowned. "That's a lot for anyone to take in. Give him some space."

LJ glared at his father. Then the hostility in his glassy blue eyes melted away, replaced by a look of sorrow so deep that it sheared into Lincoln like a knife through his chest.

After bounding off his chair, LJ flew out of the room.

Lincoln heard a door slide open.

Ben said, "He went on the balcony. Should I go talk to him?"

"Give him a minute." If his son was anything like him, he'd want to be left alone.

"H-H-He said some people killed his mom? Why? Who was it?"

"A secret service agent named Paul Kellerman." Lincoln's jaw clenched. _The same guy my brother wants me to track down to ask for help._ His hand curled into a fist. He was still trying to wrap his mind around that request.

"The secret service?" Ben squinted. "But they help the President, right? Why would they kill—"

"Listen, Ben, we've probably told you way too much already—don't worry about it." Lincoln appreciated why Michael hadn't wanted to involve Karina in their mess. Most people they'd drawn into the company's web had ended up dead. He thought about Tweener, who hadn't been much older than the blond boy sitting across from him.

"LJ will be alright." Lincoln sounded like he was trying to convince himself most of all. "Just keep playing your game, and I'll keep working on the origami."

Ben chewed his lip as he eyed the crumpled papers. "What exactly are you trying to make?"

He blew out a breath. "A rose."

"That doesn't look _anything_ like a rose."

Lincoln narrowed his eyes. "Like you can do any better?"

Ben had an origami rose instructional video playing in seconds. He snatched a few pieces of paper and attempted to follow along.

"Ahhh." Lincoln watched the model create a few folds he'd missed and imitated the moves on the red paper. _"That's_ what I was doing wrong."

"He's going way too fast!" Ben protested. "How'd you keep up with that dude?"

"Years of practice, kid." His airway constricted remembering the cranes he used to leave by Michael's bed. _A small dark-haired boy sleeping all alone, curled up on the sheets_. He cleared his throat. "Try something easier first, like a crane. I'm gonna get LJ." His son might want to practice origami—maybe he could woo a girl by making a rose for her someday. It sure had worked on Sara.

LJ didn't look at him as he stepped onto the balcony, but Lincoln could sense his shift of posture, the hardening of his face. He studied his son's tense profile, spotlighted by the pink hues of the setting sun. Saying nothing, he folded his body onto a deck chair and stared out at the marina.

After a beat, Lincoln broke the silence. "Must be tough to be around a guy who still has his mother."

LJ swallowed. "It's not fair."

"No, it isn't."

More silence.

"Hey, uh, Ben's trying to help me make the rose, but the kid's helpless. Do you still remember how to make origami like I taught you?"

"Of course."

"Good, 'cause I need your help in there. Wanna come in?"

LJ shrugged, but he did get out of his chair.

When they reentered Ben's bedroom, the fifteen year old threw a wadded-up ball of paper at them. "This is, like, impossible! I can't even make a stupid crane."

"You should see my Uncle Mike make a crane—it takes him like ten seconds," LJ boasted.

They spent the next hour attempting a rose, and with LJ's help, Lincoln created a masterpiece. He knew Sara would love it. "Okay, guys, seeing as Karina's not back yet, I'll make us some dinner." Observing their skeptical looks, his mouth tightened. "Hey, I can cook."

"I don't want pancakes for dinner, Dad."

"You think that's my only specialty? I can cook with the best of them."

Ben's chin dipped. "Should I be nervous? Maybe like google some recipes or something?"

"Shut it, kid," Lincoln ordered. "If you're so great on the computer, why don't you find me an address for Emily Morgan in LA? Work on that while I cook."

"Ugh." LJ wrinkled his nose. "You're actually sending that bracelet to her? Don't go out of your way just for Gretchen."

"It's not for Gretchen," Lincoln said. "It's for Sara. She asked me to do it."

~~o * o~~

"And he didn't like it very much when my son thought he was LJ's grandpa."

Michael grinned as he watched Karina adjust his IV. "I bet. Linc's sensitive about his age. He looked ancient when his head was shaved."

Her brows knitted. "Why was his head shaved?"

"It was before, uh, before the execution."

"Oh." Karina busied herself with the drip chamber, though it worked just fine.

"What's your son's name?"

A faint smile crossed her face. "Benjamin."

Michael studied her. "You should be with him, not with me."

"Well, I'll check in on him soon." She glanced at her watch. "He'll be okay—he's with Lincoln and LJ for now, at my place."

"So now you have three boys to take care of."

Karina laughed. "Is Lincoln really that bad?"

"I shouldn't say it like that. Linc's the one who took care of _me_ when I was a kid."

"He did? Where were your parents?"

"They weren't around." He looked away.

There was a commotion outside and a man's voice floated through the door. "But Agent Wheatley should've already cleared me, Officer." The familiar gruff voice froze Michael in place.

"He did, sir," the guard said. "We just need to check your ID."

"Fine."

Michael paled.

"What's wrong?" Karina asked.

"This may be a good time to visit your son. My next visitor isn't happy with me—things might get ugly."

Intrigued, Karina looked up to find a man in his early sixties stride into the room.

Henry Pope aimed a sardonic look at Michael's chains and bandaged hands. "I see things haven't changed for you since Fox River."

Michael's mind was in overdrive, trying to understand the former warden's presence. He forced a light tone. "Still in restraints and in the infirmary, Henry."

When Henry's eyes roamed over Karina's strong frame, it seemed like he wondered if she was a repeat manipulation from Fox River as well.

Michael realized introductions were in order. "Dr. Karina Daniels, this is Henry Pope, former Warden at Fox River."

"The 'former' part of my title's all thanks to Michael." Henry pumped her hand as Michael's face flamed. "It's a pleasure, Doctor."

"Likewise, Mr. Pope."

"I'm glad you've been reinstated here at Coral Gables."

Karina's head tilted. "You . . .?"

Instead of answering her, he looked at Michael. "I heard you sustained more burns trying to help someone escape from prison. You're good at that."

Michael wasn't sure what to say.

"Are his burns serious?" Henry asked Karina.

Karina paused. "I'll let the patient tell you. If you promise not to harm him, I'll give you two some privacy."

" _Harm_ him?" Henry blanched.

"Michael just finished telling me things may get ugly during your visit."

"I know you won't _harm_ me," Michael rushed to explain. "It's just I know you're angry and disappointed with me, as well you should be. You were good to me, and I betrayed you. I deserve your anger."

Henry scowled. "You can leave, Doctor. It looks like Michael and I have much to discuss."

Once she departed, he aimed a stern look at the prisoner. "You obviously don't understand why I'm here. I didn't come to yell at you, Michael—I did enough of that back in Chicago, back when you held that gun on me in my house."

Michael looked down. _Not one of my finest moments_.

"I'm here to help you." That earned a surprised look from Michael's swiftly raised eyes. "Your attorney will be here soon, and I'm here to keep you company till he arrives."

"Blue won't be here. Todd's blocking him."

"Not anymore." Henry smiled. "Agent Wheatley's coming around after his boss chewed his butt and new evidence came to light."

"New evidence?"

"Gretchen Morgan handed over Sara's death warrant to Warden Simms. I was there. I saw it."

Michael sat up and his chains jingled. "Did Todd see it too?" When Henry nodded, Michael's eyes widened. "He never believed me—he never believed Sara's life was in danger. Gretchen willingly turned that over?"

"Well, we had to cajole her. She might get a deal if she tells the feds about the company." Henry studied his reaction. "You don't seem upset about her getting out of prison."

Michael sighed. "She's a snake, but if she can help free Sara, I don't really care what happens to her. It's smart to appeal to her self interest. Gretchen's definitely out for herself."

"Alex Mahone seemed to think so."

Michael gave him a sharp look. "You spoke to Alex?"

"He's the one who got me down here to Miami. He would've come himself, but didn't think he'd be much help. His idea for me to speak _warden to warden_ with Alice Simms was right on, though."

Michael's jaw lowered. "You met with Alice?" His head tilted. "For me?"

"Things have changed since you and Dr. Tancredi showed up at my house. For one, I listened to the tape from the cigar club." He shuddered. "There're some things about President Reynolds I'd rather not know."

"Me neither."

"Though that tape obviously didn't get you what you wanted. Then Dr. Tancredi's trial happened, and I couldn't believe what Paul Kellerman confessed. Alex tells me he's working for the U.N. now?"

"It's hard to believe, I know."

"Then Dr. Tancredi gets accused of murder?" His eyes flared. "You and I both know she's no killer. She's a _healer._ I knew you were caught up in something evil once I read about her arrest."

Michael exhaled. "Sara's been forced to shoot a gun twice, and both times were to save my life."

"And now the D.A. will know she acted in self-defense, too." Reading Michael's confusion, he added, "The General's daughter, Lisa Tabak, also came forward. She gave us camera footage from the warehouse. It showed your mother about to fire her weapon before getting shot."

"That's exactly what happened! Do you think they'll throw out Sara's case? Will she go free?"

"The evidence is building to free you both."

Michael swallowed. "I don't deserve to be free. I'm where I belong. But Sara—she shouldn't be a fugitive for the rest of her life. She should be able to raise our child without the threat of prison hanging over her head."

"Dr. Tancredi's pregnant?" When Michael nodded, Henry's face lit up. "Good work. And I hear you've made an honest woman of her, too."

Michael gave one of his charismatic grins. "Yes, we're married now."

"But Michael, you're telling me you're content to waste away in supermax while your wife and child live life without you? That's not right. You need to fight, son."

He sighed. "I don't think I have any fight left."

Henry tightened his grip on the bed railing as he stared at the cuffs and chains. He eased into the chair next to the bed. "You said Dr. Tancredi saved your life twice. What was the first time?"

Michael sighed again. "When we were in Panama—that's where we went after the escape—a company agent, Bill Kim, tried to kill us."

"That was the Asian man at the cigar club?"

"Oh, right—I forgot you already became acquainted with that weasel."

"Yes, and as I recall, _he_ became acquainted with the hood of your car."

The corner of Michael's mouth twitched. He remembered talking burritos and filet mignon in the back of a Jeep as he and Sara waited for Henry to return from the cigar club. Then an image filled his mind of Sara emerging from the little yacht, cleaning rag in her hand. "In Panama . . . Before Bill Kim could shoot Linc, Sara shot him instead."

"Hmm." Henry absorbed that. "Alex told me _you_ were the one imprisoned in Sona, charged with Bill Kim's murder. If Sara was the one who pulled the trigger, how'd that happen?"

Memories flashed through his mind. The desperate kiss he'd shared with Sara in that sweltering Panamanian shack . . . her trembling hands cradling the sides of his head, the wetness of her tears sliding down her cheeks, the pressure of her lips on his—

"You took the fall for her, didn't you?" Henry said.

Michael said nothing.

Henry felt like he was back at Fox River interrogating Michael. He'd demanded to know how he'd gotten burned but had only received a defiant stare in return. Things hadn't changed much in six months—in a way they were right back where they'd started. However, this time Henry knew Michael's motivations. Now he was convinced of his integrity and self-sacrifice, instead of merely sensing those qualities and hoping they were true.

"You've been through quite a lot." Henry's hand hovered for a moment before he clasped Michael's arm. "I can understand why you're tired. You of all people know what it's like to feel such intense pressure, feel it weakening your strength. What'd you call it? Tensile strength. You know what it's like to feel those forces press down, threaten to crack you internal structure, cause fatigue and stress. But think of your child, Michael. You may only get one chance to be a parent—don't let that pass you by. Don't mess it up."

The fire in Henry's eyes burned into him. He contemplated his words before a smirk tugged up one corner of his mouth. "You're saying my family's not properly propagated right now?"

Henry grinned. "Exactly. They need a structural engineer to properly propagate them, Michael. They need _you."_

Michael held Henry's gaze for several moments.

Henry could almost see the genius mind whirring and planning.

Author's Note: I never intended to become a writer, but Bad Blood in season two was the episode that got me started writing my first fan fiction. (I love Henry! And I wondered what would've happened if Michael had indeed turned himself in after making a deal with Henry to get the recording from the cigar club. Those "what if" questions spark a lot of fan fiction.)

Are you getting psyched for season five? I hear Went, Dom, Sarah, and Amaury are all on board, woo hoo!


	22. Blueberry Pancakes

22\. Blueberry Pancakes

"You sure you don't want any wine?" Lincoln lifted the glass of Malbec that Karina had poured for him. "It's really good. And, it helps destroy the disgusting aftertaste from dinner."

She chuckled. "Oh c'mon, it wasn't that bad."

"Then why'd Ben and LJ refuse to eat?"

"They're teenagers. They hardly have discerning palates."

"I knew I should've stuck with blueberry pancakes." When Karina gave him a puzzled glance, Lincoln explained, "They were LJ's favorite back when he was little. I'd make them when I had him on weekends."

"You were divorced?"

He winced. "Lisa and I never got married. We were young . . ."

She nodded. "I'm glad you still got to be part of LJ's life."

"I . . ." He sighed and looked at Ben's bedroom where the boys were reading. "I haven't been there like I should. I'm trying to make it up to him, but I've got to think about Michael and Sara now, too. I've got to help them before I can get LJ settled."

"That's a lot of responsibility."

He felt weighed down by the thought of it. "It _is_ a lot, but Michael could handle it. Me, on the other hand—I'm sure I'll screw it up."

She placed her hand over his on the table and stroked his rough skin. "That's not what Michael told me. He said you took excellent care of him when he was young."

"He said that?" His eyes crinkled, and he gave her hand a squeeze in return.

His touch made her feel lightheaded. "Why, uh, why weren't your parents there for you?"

His face darkened. He withdrew his hand and balled it into a fist in his lap. "My dad—he started this. He used to work for the company, but he left when he discovered how evil they were. They set me up for Steadman's murder to get back at my dad."

She recoiled. "And your mom?"

"She died of cancer when we were young." That was how he saw it—once his mother had developed the brain tumor, she'd ceased to exist. The Christina Hampton he'd met wasn't his mother anymore.

Her finger skimmed over the lid of her coffee cup. "I'm sorry your parents weren't there for you." She looked down. "Sometimes I worry about Ben growing up without a father, but at least he has his mom." She sighed. "Well, truthfully I wasn't around much during med school. I still regret having to leave Ben at my sister's so many times."

"I figured you became a doctor before you lost your husband."

"No." Her mouth set into a tight line. "My husband was a firefighter—he died in the line of duty. He was only twenty-five."

Lincoln's face fell. After a moment he asked, "How old was your son then?"

"He was three."

This time he was the one to reach for her hand. He touched her soft skin, marveling at the skilled hands that took care of his brother. "That's why you work on the Burn Unit."

She sniffed. "Ben and I met in college. When I got pregnant, we both dropped out of school. I didn't want him to take such a dangerous job, but we needed the money." When she took a sip of coffee, her hand trembled. "After the baby was born, Ben convinced me to start nursing school. I doubt I would've had the confidence to try, if not for his encouragement, but then, the accident . . . the fire happened." Her hazel eyes gazed into the distance. "He had burns covering eighty percent of his body. I felt so _helpless."_

"But you did something good with your life after that. You didn't stay helpless. Michael's lucky to have you take care of him."

His deep blue eyes drew her in with their intensity.

He shook his head. "You turned the bad stuff around, but I turned to drugs. You took care of your son, while I got mine framed for murder and kidnapped. Some father I turned out to be."

"You used drugs?"

Lincoln flinched when he saw Ben standing there, with LJ peering around his shoulder. "Shit. How long have you been standing there?"

"What kind of drugs?" Ben asked.

Lincoln dropped Karina's hand and stood. "The kind of drugs that led me to Death Row," he snapped. "The kind of drugs that forced my brother to break me out of prison and ruin his life in the process. The kind of drugs that got people killed."

Ben's eyes grew wide, and LJ stepped around him.

"Both of you," Lincoln said as he pointed to each teenager in turn, "You stay away from drugs, got it? Don't become a screw-up like me."

"Oh, get over yourself, Dad." LJ crossed his arms. "I'm sick of hearing what a crappy father you are . . . _almost_ as sick as I am of hearing Uncle Mike blaming himself for everything that goes wrong in the world. You two need to get a life."

Lincoln's face turned crimson, but Karina started laughing, earning her an incensed look from Lincoln and puzzled glances from the boys. "I'd say you have your dad and uncle pegged, LJ." She laughed harder. "They _do_ need to get a life."

"Hey," Lincoln growled. "I'm working on it, okay?" He watched how her whole face lit up when she laughed. The tightness in his chest loosened.

"Yes, you are." She smiled fondly.

His shoulders slumped. "Now we just need Michael to get a life."

LJ nodded.

Lincoln's phone rang and he answered once he saw the number. "Sara?" He crossed over to the sofa, and LJ sat next to him. "Are you okay?"

"We're all right." Lincoln heard a rustling and Sara hissing, _"I will!"_

Then Lincoln heard Sucre in the background: "I haven't let her outta my sight, Linc. I promise!"

Lincoln chuckled.

"It's so wonderful to have a chaperone," Sara said. "Thanks for that. How's Michael?"

"He's okay. Karina said his burns are healing good. She's here with me—LJ and Karina's son Ben, too."

"Oh."

"Karina told me Pope visited Michael," said Lincoln.

Sara pictured Henry's fury when she and Michael had crashed his doorstep, asking for his help. It seemed like a lifetime ago. _"Really?_ I wonder what that's about. _"_

Lincoln glanced at his watch. "Pope should be finished yelling at him by now, I guess."

"Lincoln, what's next? How can we get Michael out of there?"

He let out a long sigh. "I'm supposed to call Paul Kellerman. But I can't bring myself to do it yet."

Sara was silent for a moment, wrapped up in flashes of bathtubs and hot irons. "He helped us once. Maybe he'll help us again."

"Only if it helps him too—if it tits his tat. Or tats his tit."

Listening to Lincoln's response, Karina shook her head as she grinned.

"Kellerman's a snake," Lincoln continued. "I don't trust the guy."

"I don't either, but what options do we have?"

He skated his hand across his buzzed hair. "I got nothin'. Michael's the brains behind this operation, not me." _I'm the brawn; you're the brains._

"Lincoln, can I talk to LJ?"

"Yeah." He held out the phone to his son. "She wants to talk to you."

A smile crept across his lips as he took the phone. "Hi, Aunt Sara."

"Hey LJ, how're you making out?"

"Good. Dad fixed a vomitous dinner tonight, though."

Sara laughed. "I just want you to know we miss you. I'd love for you to get to know Fernando better one day—he means a lot to your uncle."

"That'd be cool."

"Okay, Fernando's telling me that I've stalled long enough. Can you hand me back to Lincoln?"

"Sure."

"And LJ? Make sure to keep your dad in line, okay?"

LJ grinned. "'Kay."

"What was that all about?" Lincoln growled when he had control of the phone again.

"I just wanted to make sure LJ was okay. He's been through a lot, Lincoln."

He licked his lips. "I know."

"So, I need to tell you something." She paused. "Promise me you won't worry?"

His eyes narrowed. "What is it?"

"I went back and forth about whether to tell you—Maricruz and Fernando think I should. But I don't know if I want you to tell this to Michael or not. On the one hand, he deserves to know, but—"

"Sara." He was losing patience. "What'd you need to tell me?"

She sighed. "I've been spotting."

He squinted. "You've been spotting . . . ?"

Karina covered her mouth.

"The baby," Sara said. "I've been spotting blood."

"That's bad, right?"

"It could be. Or it could be totally normal. It happens sometimes from cervicitis, which can be exacerbated by intercourse, though I'm certainly not having that lately, ha ha—"

"Do I need to hear this?" Lincoln grimaced.

"Sorry. Or it could be an infection, or just some tissue debris, or it could be . . . it could be a miscarriage."

Hearing her voice shatter on that last word, he drew in a deep breath. "Oh, Sara."

She'd started to sob, and at first he was surprised by her mood swing. But then he reminded himself she was pregnant. At least he _hoped_ she was still pregnant.

"I . . ." She gulped. "I'm so scared I caused this. What if it's payback for all the drugs I took? I'd never forgive myself."

He was struck by how he'd said similar words earlier that night, lamenting how his drug use and criminal past had ruined so many lives. "Listen, Sara, you'll be all right. We'll get Michael out of there somehow, and he'll be with you soon, okay? And before you know it, I'll be cooking blueberry pancakes for my little niece or nephew."

"You better not try to cook anything else, that's for damn sure," LJ chimed in.

Lincoln's hand shot out to box his ear but LJ ducked just in time.

"That sounds nice," Sara mused. "Maybe we can all eat Sunday breakfast together, when we're free."

"When we're _really_ free," Lincoln agreed.

"Linc?" Karina extended her hand. "Could I talk to Sara?"

He chewed on his lip. "Uh, Sara? Karina wants to talk to you." He handed the phone to her.

"Dr. Tancredi? I'm Karina Daniels."

"Just Sara. I'm sure my medical license has been revoked by now." She gave a nervous laugh. "Uh, thank you, Karina—thank you for taking care of Michael."

"I know he'd rather have _you_ by his bedside. Obviously I'm not an O-B-Gyne, but I thought maybe we could talk over your symptoms a bit?" She could hear the relief in Sara's voice as they launched into a technical discussion of trimesters and tissues.

After they talked for a few minutes, they agreed Sara should be examined at a medical clinic even if there was a risk of her being identified.

Sara said, "Karina? Could I ask a question?"

"Shoot."

"Is Michael's tumor really gone?"

"It is. I've reviewed the CT scans countless times at his request."

"Are you sure? Because I could totally picture Michael manipulating you into convincing everyone the tumor disappeared, just so we wouldn't worry about it."

Karina laughed. "I could picture him doing that, too. But Sara, the electrical shock did indeed eradicate the tumor. I wish you could be here to see the scans. I wish you could be here for Michael."

Sara's voice was strained. "There's nothing I'd like more."

"Hmm. There's usually a police officer stationed in the room, so I don't think I could get a phone in there for you to talk to him—"

"No, don't get in trouble on our account. Michael wouldn't want that. Just tell him—I don't know what to tell him. Just tell him . . . the ocean _is_ my backyard, but it's not the same without him. Tell him I need him here."

"I'll do that, Sara." She hesitated. "You were the first thing on his mind, you know, when he returned to consciousness. All he cares about is your safety. Just do the best you can taking care of yourself and the baby."

"Thank you, Karina."

"Here's Linc again."

"Do you feel better after talking to Karina?"

"Absolutely."

Lincoln grinned as he maintained eye contact with Karina. "She's good at that. She's good at making people feel better."

Sara asked, "Lincoln, will you tell Michael about the spotting?"

"Dunno."

"I don't know either. I was so mad when he didn't tell me about the nosebleeds—I don't want to make the same mistake. But I'm not sure what good it'd do, with him stuck in chains. He'd feel so awful."

"I don't know what to do." Lincoln scowled.

"Well, I want the decision to be yours. You're his brother. You know him best."

"Thanks, I guess." They both chuckled. "Take care of yourself, Sara. And tell Sucre to keep up the watch."

"I _won't_ tell him that."

"That's okay—he knows what's good for him. Bye, Doc."

Her voice sounded wistful. "Goodbye, Lincoln."

Karina watched etched lines of worry harden on Lincoln's face. She told him, "I should get back to the hospital."

"Ah, that's why you didn't have wine earlier."

She nodded. "Is it okay if I leave you three here again?"

Lincoln glanced at Ben, who'd been quiet. "How about it, Ben? Okay if me and LJ stay here?"

"Sure, Gramps," Ben said.

Lincoln's eyes tapered into slits.

Just as Karina headed to the door, Lincoln's cell phone rang again. He looked at it and frowned. "Unknown caller. Wonder if I should take it."


	23. It's Never Too Late to Mend

23\. It's Never Too Late to Mend

After Karina left, Lincoln bristled when he answered the phone and heard the smug voice.

"Hello, Mr. Burrows."

"Cut the shit, Paul."

LJ whispered, "Kellerman?"

Lincoln nodded and fought the urge to hang up.

"You were always so eloquent, Burrows. And, hard to track down. But I found you."

"What do you want?" His jaw muscles rippled.

"Such animosity from a man I helped exonerate? I thought you'd be thrilled to hear from me."

"Typically I don't take calls from men who tried to kill me."

Paul chuckled. "Aw, I thought we might've moved on since then given how much I've helped your family."

"If you're such the savior, where were you when Sara got arrested?"

"Tsk tsk tsk. How was I to know the little iron maiden shot and killed an innocent woman? I'm good, Mr. Burrows, but I'm not that good."

"You're not good at all, actually. And I'm sure you knew the 'woman' Sara shot. She _definitely_ wasn't innocent."

"Unfortunately I never had the opportunity to meet the illustrious Christina Scofield, though you're correct—her reputation does precede her. It explains a lot about you about your brother." Paul stopped for a moment. "I always thought you were a son of a bitch."

Lincoln's grip almost crushed the phone.

"But enough about you," Paul segued. "Let's talk about me. Let's talk about what I need, and how you can help me get it."

"And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because if I get what I want, then you get what you want." After a dramatic pause, Paul said, "Scofield's freedom."

A spark of excitement flared up Lincoln's spine, but he frowned and squelched his hope. Kellerman was about as trustworthy as the illustrious "bitch" who'd mothered him. "I'm listening."

"I thought that'd get your attention. You see, I was quite the UN hero when I delivered Scylla. They loved me. But now we have a little problem: a glitch in one of the computer programs. They're not so happy with me, now that Scylla's stopped working. The world needs those solar power algorithms, Mr. Burrows. We need to increase crop production, feed the hungry. And, most importantly, I need to be a hero again."

Lincoln rolled his eyes. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Very little—your tiny brain would be useless on this project. But your brother's brain, on the other hand . . . We need it. We need his genius. And hey, the UN freed Scofield once for delivering Scylla. I figure they'll do it again."

"You _figure?_ If Michael helps your ass once again, does he go free or not?"

"I'm sure it'll work out. It's just the FBI throwing a wrench in the works. They're not too happy about Scofield going scot-free yet again, especially after he made them look so foolish when he broke out Sara from right under their noses. But they'll come around—the UN will help them _see the light_."

The solar energy pun went lost on Lincoln.

Paul continued, "I need you to talk to your brother—see if he's up for a little quid pro quo again. He did tell me he's tired of running."

"That's the thing—Michael isn't running anymore. He's a prisoner, and I don't have access to him. How am I supposed to tell him about this?"

"You'll figure it out."

Lincoln asked, "Why aren't you talking to his lawyer?"

"Because we all know Scofield isn't my biggest fan, and he _is_ rather mistrustful—"

"With good reason!" Lincoln roared.

"Calm down, Burrows. I thought he'd accept this idea if it came from you instead of from me or his attorney, that's all."

Thinking about the countless times he'd fucked up, including most recently trusting the General despite Michael warning against it, Lincoln knew Michael should've had no reason to trust him. Yet, he agreed with Kellerman that, of all people, he had the best shot of convincing his brother. He exhaled. _"I'd_ accept this deal better if we knew for sure Michael walks after it's all done."

"That's my job—to work on the feds. You do your job by talking to Michael."

Lincoln's sigh was weary. "Fine."

"We'll be in touch."

"Hey, Kellerman?"

"Yeah?"

Lincoln's deep-blue eyes glinted. "Whatever happened to Caroline Reynolds?"

Silence.

Lincoln added, "You two having babies by now?"

"She's dead." Paul's voice was numb. "The company executed her right after she resigned."

Veronica's lovely grey eyes, wide and innocent, flashed in his mind. "Now you know how it feels." His finger stabbed the phone to end the call.

Lincoln looked up to find LJ watching him. His son had shrunk back to the corner of the sofa, like he was scared of him. "Fuck this." Lincoln bolted up, marched out to the balcony, and shoved the sliding glass door closed as hard as he could.

Ben was surprised the glass door hadn't shattered. "What's _his_ problem?"

"It's too much to explain," LJ said.

"Who was your dad talking to?"

LJ's crystal eyes clouded. "A secret service guy—Paul Kellerman."

Ben gasped. "He's the guy who killed your mom?"

His lips parted. "How . . . how'd you know that?"

"I'm sorry dude, your dad told me. I'm sorry."

When LJ was quiet, Ben asked, "Why didn't your dad just hang up on that guy, then? Why talk to him?"

"Because he has to, probably," LJ answered in a huff. He stood and glared at Ben. "Why do _you_ care, anyway?" He joined his father out on the balcony.

Ben stared at his hands twisting in his lap. Why was everyone mad at him?

~~o * o~~

"I need you to answer a question for me," Henry said.

Michael nodded.

"About the escape."

He tensed but maintained a poker face.

Henry studied him. "The night I left you in my office, waiting for the glue to dry . . . then you were missing from count, and all the guards were looking for you . . . were you _really_ in my office the entire time?"

His mouth tightened. "No."

"I _knew_ it. Bellick knew it too."

Awkward silence floated over them at the mention of Bellick.

After a beat, Henry asked, "Then where _were_ you?"

"I was on the roof." Michael's nonchalant reply made Henry gape at him. "English, Fitz, or Percy. I had to know which street would be our ticket out of there, once the alarm was sounded."

Henry shook his head as he breathed out through his nose. "If you weren't so damn clever, I'd be furious with you."

"You should be furious. I betrayed your trust."

"We betrayed _you_ , Michael. The system betrayed you and your brother. I almost supervised the execution of an innocent man. Do you think I could've lived with myself after that?"

Michael blinked up at him.

Henry added, "You stopped a wrongful execution."

"My father stopped the execution," Michael said, his voice soft.

"Your father?" Henry furrowed his prominent brow. "I thought he was long gone."

"He _was_ gone, but he came out of hiding with Terrence Steadman's medical records. He forced the judge to order a stay of execution."

"How the heck did your father get involved in that mess?"

Michael sighed. "My father used to work for the company."

Henry's eyes bugged. "Where is he now? Why isn't he here trying to save you?"

"He's dead." Michael looked down. "Alex shot him in New Mexico."

"Ah." His shoulders slumped. "That's why Alex wants to help you now—why he told me to come down here for you. He feels guilty."

"Alex is a complicated man—I don't pretend to know his motivation. But I do know we've grown to respect each other."

Henry grunted. He studied Michael's profile. "So, you don't have a father anymore."

Michael looked up. "I never really did have one."

They eyed each other uncomfortably during the ensuing silence.

After a stirring outside the door, Blue Phillips glided into the room. The officer posted in the corner glared at him, and Blue glared back. "Leave us. The prisoner's entitled to private counsel."

"Not according to Agent Wheatley," the officer said.

"Check with your buddy outside." Blue pointed to the door. "Your orders have changed. The FBI _will_ follow the rules from here on out."

The officer frowned and left.

"How's Mr. Pope been treating you, Michael?" Blue asked.

Michael stole a glance at Henry. "Better than I deserve." He scowled at Blue. "It's about time you showed up."

"Sorry, man. Wheatley's been making my life hell."

"He's good at that." Michael remembered when he'd discovered Todd changing the security cameras outside the Miami-Dade Women's Penitentiary. The move had crushed his original escape plan for Sara. As he sat up, the chains clanked. "Henry told me new evidence has come to light?"

"Yes!" Blue grinned as he opened his briefcase. "The General's ladies don't like him very much these days, lucky for us."

Henry offered, "Perhaps I should leave you two to discuss strategy."

"You don't have to go," Michael said.

He smiled. "Judy's waiting for me back at the hotel. I better return."

Michael nodded. "Thank you, Henry."

Blue said, "Michael, you should know Henry was instrumental in uncovering this new evidence. Warden Simms told me he really turned her attitude around about Sara's escape."

"I . . ." Michael shifted as he looked at the former warden. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to thank you."

Henry drew in a deep breath. "There was a proverb embossed on the floor of Death Row, in Fox River. Your brother saw it every day: _It's never too late to mend_. I believe that, Michael. I truly do. Just work on mending yourself and your family. It's not too late."

Michael stilled.

"And don't forget what I told you—you might only get one chance to be a parent. You grew up without a father. Don't let your child suffer the same fate." Henry's brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

After Henry left, Michael thought about all they'd been through. Perhaps he wasn't without a father after all.


	24. Fernando

24\. Fernando

The ancient car chugged toward town emitting a trail of bilious, black smoke. Oblivious to their pollution of the coastal ecosystem, Sucre and Sara focused instead on the impending doctor's visit. Tension hovered between them.

From the passenger seat, she asked, "So I'll be Mrs. Sucre, right?"

"Sí, mami. Sara Sucre." He clutched the steering wheel.

"And you'll do the talking?"

Sucre nodded.

Sara exhaled as she swirled the ring on her right index finger. She noticed the ring had tightened, and she welcomed the swelling—a sign she was still with child.

Feeling the quiet strain of their errand, Sucre reached over to flip on the radio. The DJ said something about an ABBA song.

Together they listened to the slow, wistful intro. The flutes lilted to a crescendo and the drums punctuated the beat. A woman sang:

 _Can you hear the drums, Fernando?_

Sara looked over at him in surprise, and he grinned back at her. Evidently he _could_ hear the drums.

 _I remember long ago another starry night like this_

 _In the firelight, Fernando_

 _You were humming to yourself and softly strumming your guitar_

Sucre grooved to the beat.

Sara found herself humming along. Her mother had loved ABBA.

At the chorus, the fake husband and wife looked at each other. It just seemed right for both to belt out:

 _There was something in the air that night_

 _The stars were bright, Fernando_

 _They were shining there for you and me_

 _For liberty, Fernando_

Neither voice was strong or on pitch, but neither cared. They both laughed as they sang. Sucre remembered singing _Eres Tu_ _(Touch the Wind)_ to the cellblock when Michael was kicking his boot through the wall.

Sara rued never having chosen a special song between her and Michael. They still needed one.

 _Though I never thought that we could lose_

 _There's no regret_

 _If I had to do the same again_

 _I would, my friend, Fernando_

By the time the song finished, they'd reached the outskirts of town—a dangerous place for a fugitive from the law. But Sara didn't panic. She turned to Sucre. "If I had to do the same again, I would my friend, Fernando."

He thought about his own choices on the journey from Fox River and knew exactly what she meant. "Me too, my friend, Sara."

Sucre parked in front of the medical clinic. His eyebrows pulled together. "This should be Michael going in to your first doctor's appointment, not me."

Her eyes tightened as she pushed open the car door without saying a word. She kept her head down as they walked into the clinic with Sucre's arm draped over her shoulders.

~~o * o~~

"How're your burns healing?"

Michael looked up at Blue Phillips. "Pretty good. It's not so disgusting now when Karina changes the bandages."

Blue eyed his IV. "Still on pain meds, huh?"

"Unfortunately." Michael studied him. "You're wondering if I'm lucid enough to discuss Sara's defense?"

Blue flinched, then grinned. "I guess that answers the question—you're obviously coherent enough to read my mind. But I want to talk about _your_ defense, too."

"It's a slam-dunk for the prosecution, though. It's clear I was the one to break Sara out." He held up his bandaged hands and offered a charming grin. "They caught me red-handed."

Blue didn't feel like laughing. "Maybe their case isn't so slam-dunk. I've got Agent Wheatley on several procedural errors already. And, if we can prove Sara's life was in danger—that she was wrongfully imprisoned in the first place, we can argue the legality of your actions, too."

"Said by the overly optimistic defense attorney. Instill your client with hope, even when it's not looking so good."

"I'm not bullshitting you, Michael. We have a legitimate chance to win your freedom."

Michael wanted to point his right index finger in the air but was frustrated to find his digits bandaged together. "Ah, but that begs the question: do I deserve to be free?"

"Do you know what they'll do to you?" Blue's voice softened. "Do you have any idea what a supermax facility is like?"

When Michael didn't respond, Blue sat in the chair next to the bed. "You'll be housed with the most dangerous criminals in the world, not that you'll ever see any of them. Inmates spend twenty-three hours a day alone in their cell, with one hour of solitary exercise in a concrete block. The cell's furnished with poured concrete, including your bed, desk, and stool. There're no telecommunications with the outside world. Absolutely no possibility of escape. The conditions are so bad there's only one federal supermax left in the US: ADX Florence in Colorado."

Michael grew silent as he pictured his first day there. He'd arrive in a discreet grey van, shuffle forward in chains, submit to a humiliating body cavity search. He swallowed hard, trying to imagine the feel of entering his cell. How would he react to the defining thud of the heavy door locking in place, with seconds and minutes and days and weeks and years of solitude ahead?

Would it feel like his brief stay in the Fox River SHU? There'd be no faking a mental breakdown, to be rescued by a lovely auburn-haired doctor, this time. Could he survive that kind of mind-numbing imprisonment without his brother or wife nearby?

"Is that what you want?" Blue's question cut into his thoughts.

"It's not about what I want," he snapped. The tendrils of fear working their way up his spine ticked him off. He sighed. "It's about what I deserve."

Blue sat back in the chair. "Do you remember when we first met? You were so frantic to save Sara—to get her out of there."

"I was desperate." He cleared his throat. "I remember I wasn't sure if I could trust you. I knew you represented Bruce Bennett's holdings down here in Miami, but I still wasn't sure."

"I feel like I haven't done enough to earn your trust, Michael . . . but I will."

"You got me into see Sara, in prison, which was a key for the escape. That scored you a lot of points."

Blue's chuckle was halfhearted. "I thought there'd be no way in hell you could break her out. I knew your history, but getting her out of there with the timetable you had . . . that seemed impossible. I thought you'd either have to give up, or die trying." He glanced at his burned hands. "And you did almost die."

Michael looked away.

"But you did it, Michael. You saved her, and you lived. No one else on this planet could've done that. Please—let me help you get free of these charges, so you can reunite with your wife."

"Sara," Michael insisted. "We focus on Sara first."

"Then we should get Sara her own attorney."

"No. You'll represent both of us." Reading his dubious look, Michael added, "I trust you, Blue. I know you can get Sara cleared of all charges."

"The testimony of Gretchen Morgan and Lisa Tabak will be a good start, yes. The warehouse camera footage will help, too."

"What else do we need?"

Blue took a deep breath. This would be a real test of Michael's trust. "We need Sara to turn herself in, so she can be cleared."

Michael paled. "That'll _never_ happen."

~~o * o~~

Sara tried to follow the conversation between Sucre and the physician, but other than a few recognizable words here and there, she was lost.

Sucre finally turned to her. "The doc thinks your blood-work's normal. He thinks you just need to rest."

Blinking several times, Sara risked the question, "Does he mean bed rest?"

He turned to the physician. "¿Solamente in la cama?"

The doctor studied Sara's midsection, tilted his head to one side, and answered.

"He thinks that would be best," Sucre said. "At least for a week or so."

Sara took a deep breath. When the doctor got up to leave, her eyes widened. "Wait—aren't we doing an ultrasound?" She mimicked the motions of squirting gel on her belly followed by circling her open palm around her abdomen.

The doctor shook his head and spoke to Sucre.

Sucre whistled through his teeth as he turned back to Sara. "It would cost mucho."

"I don't care, Fernando. We're doing it. This is my baby we're talking about . . . _Michael's_ baby. We'll use the general's blood money for something good, damn it—"

"Okay, okay." Sucre held his hands out to the side. He exchanged some words with the physician, who laughed as he exited.

"What's happening?" she asked, alarmed.

"He's getting the ultrasound machine."

"Why's he laughing?" When no response was forthcoming, Sara narrowed her eyes. "What did you tell him, Fernando?"

A blush colored his cheeks. "Nothing, really." She kept glaring, so he shrugged. "I might've said my wife wears the pants in the marriage."

She grinned. "I'm glad you see things clearly, husband."

~~o * o~~

Bolo sat at a sidewalk table and nursed a café con leche. The hot drink was welcome now that cool November winds gusted through Puerto Limón. His brown skin matched the coloring of the natives, but the almond-shape of his black eyes belied his attempts to blend in. He was a Filipino nomad drifting through Central America—a hit man in a strange land.

All he wanted was to return to his wife in the states. But with the foundation of the company crumbling, thanks to those fucking brothers, a return would risk arrest for him. So he couldn't go home, not for a while, anyway. And he hardly wanted his wife to join him down in this hellhole, where crime was rampant and neither of them spoke the language.

Across the street, a Costa Rican man with a tidy black beard exited the medical clinic and escorted his wife to their car. The man cradled her elbow, and Bolo sat up when he saw the slender woman shrug out of his protective hold. The woman spoke sharply, possibly in English, and tossed her fiery auburn hair over her shoulder.

Bolo froze. He _knew_ that woman. He'd captured her in Panama City and delivered her to that bitch Gretchen Morgan. His gaze darted back to the man next to her. The beard was new, but the shiny baldhead was the same as in the photo of the Fox River fugitives. A smile slithered across his face now that he had the wife and best friend of Michael Scofield in his sights.

He held up his coffee cup. "Do you hear the drums, Fernando?"


	25. Father to Father

Hey, PB buddies! How's it going? Sorry for the delay in posting my next chapter. Hope you enjoy. Jen

25\. Father to Father

" _I'm asking you, father to father, to leave her alone. You can kill me if you want to kill me—I'll trade my life for hers. But leave Sara alone."_

~Michael Scofield to General Krantz, _The Final Break_

"Christ," Todd muttered as he looked through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room at Miami FBI headquarters.

Ms. Lisa Tabak sat alone at a table, her hands neatly folded in her lap. After hours of reviewing company transgressions, Todd was amazed the General's daughter continued looking so dignified given the gruesome malice of her family.

"Her father's a freaking monster," he said to himself.

"He is," an unfamiliar voice agreed, and Todd turned to see a woman approach. Her short hair drew his gaze to her large brown eyes, striking against her ebony skin.

He glanced at the credentials hanging from her neck.

She offered her hand. "Felicia Lang from the Chicago Division, Agent Wheatley. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Agent Lang." Todd shook her hand. "Now where have I heard that name before?"

"Please call me Felicia, Todd." She smiled disarmingly. "I was part of the manhunt for the Fox River Eight, so I assume you saw my name in your reports?"

"Ah, yes. You worked under Alexander Mahone." Eyeing her tight, shapely figure, he wondered if that was a literal statement.

"Until I was reassigned," she reminded him. "Once Alex went, uh . . ."

"Once he went rogue?" Todd smirked. "Once he started murdering the Fox River Eight, mowing them down one by one?"

She shifted from one foot to another. "That would be the time, yes."

"Hopefully you have better judgment than your former boss, then. Why're you here, Felicia?"

"I'm here to help you, if you need help filling in the holes."

 _I know one hole I could fill._ "What kind of help?"

"We've investigated Scofield and Burrows for six months now. I have plenty of information to assist you."

"Thanks, but I've got Scofield's coffin nailed shut by now."

Felicia gestured to the mirror. "And Lisa Tabak's the one providing the hammer and nails?"

"How do you know her?"

"I know a lot about the company. We've been tracking them, too. I have in my possession records about their assets, their criminal activity, their personnel . . ."

Todd had to admit he was impressed. "Maybe you _can_ help me fill in the holes. I need to get up to speed with this company, and you seem like exactly the person to do it." He leaned in. "But let me run this by my supervisor first. He's been on my six ever since I started this case."

She smiled. "I'll be right here. I'll tell you everything I know."

When Todd strolled down the hallway, Felicia took out her cell phone and typed:

 _I'm in._

~~ o*o ~~

"At least you got me a jacket that fits, this time."

Karina's worry faded when she looked at Lincoln's doctor get-up. Despite his faux grey hair and beard, he still looked sexy as hell—scads hotter than any other physician at Coral Gables. The green scrubs fitted loosely over his muscular frame, and the white coat lent him a sense of authority that made her want to curl by his side and respond to his every order with a breathy purr, "Yes, Doctor."

"You look, uh, very believable in that disguise," she managed.

"Good, 'cause this needs to work."

They'd just ducked inside an empty coffee break room fifteen yards down the hall from Michael's hospital room.

Karina gulped. "You know what to do, right?"

"I'm good." He frowned. " _You_ okay?"

She couldn't tell if she was nervous or excited. His close presence sent flutters up her spine.

Lincoln brushed his hand down the side of her face, eliciting a hot blush. "Be careful," he said.

His deep blue eyes combined with his deep baritone voice combined with his deep, sizzling touch . . . Karina was simply in _deep_. She nodded, frozen for a second. "You, too." She somehow left his side and headed to her patient's room with wobbly legs.

Once she arrived at Michael's bedside, she noticed the police officer posted in the corner of the room. "How are you today, Mr. Scofield?"

Michael squinted at her as she checked his IV. Before he could answer, she said, "You're looking really pale. I better check your vitals."

Michael tried to figure out her weird vibe as she slid the blood pressure cuff over his arm. "Well, I may not be as red-faced as _you_ are, but—"

Her glare made him shut his mouth.

As she pumped air pressure, she placed a small clipboard on his lap.

He saw a white origami crane clipped onto the board atop some papers. After he read the message written on one of the crane's wings, his piqued crystal eyes shot up.

She scowled. "Your blood pressure's skyrocketed. Are you feeling okay?"

"Um . . ." He closed his eyes. "I feel dizzy, actually."

She inhaled through her teeth. "I hope you're not having an allergic reaction to the pain med."

On cue, Michael let out a low moan.

The police officer came out of his corner. "Is he okay?"

Michael began violent shaking. He threw his head back in a contorted angle against the pillow and twitched his limbs like an electric current jolted through him. The entire bed vibrated, causing the chains to clank. Karina scuttled around the bed to clamp the IV line and shouted over the din, "Get me Dr. Ryan! He's in the break room down the hall!"

The officer rushed out of the room. Once he was gone, Michael stopped seizing, but Karina whispered, "Keep going!"

The other officer stuck his head into the room and caught an eye full of the prisoner's dramatic epileptic fit.

"Oh God!" Karina cried. She busied herself with the equipment at the side of the shuddering bed. "Hold on, Mr. Scofield!" His chains jangled.

Dr. Ryan flew into the room, trailed by the first police officer.

"Dr. Ryan, I think the patient's allergic to hydromorphone!" Karina said. "What should I give him?"

Lincoln licked his dry lips and strained to remember his line. "Twenty CC's of lydo-kane."

"Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" She fumbled through the drawer of medical supplies then begged Lincoln, "Can you get them out of here? I need room to work on my patient!"

"You heard the doctor." Lincoln corralled both officers toward the door. "This patient's in trouble. Give us some space."

He wasn't surprised they succumbed to being pushed out the door—Michael's seizure was ghastly to watch. It made Lincoln remember times during their childhood when the LLI would overwhelm his brother, leaving him dazed and nursing a pounding headache.

Once the officers were gone, Lincoln scooped the origami crane off the clipboard. He read his scribbled message on one wing:

 _Fake a seizure._

"Gotta destroy the evidence." He pocketed the crane.

Michael wiped his sweaty forehead and aimed a lopsided grin at his brother. "You sure took long enough getting here."

"Thought that seizure would never end . . . you even worked up a sweat."

Dabbing under his nose then looking at the still-white bandage, Michael said, "But no nosebleed." He nodded at Karina. "I guess the tumor really _is_ gone."

She huffed, "You should _never_ doubt Dr. Daniels! Or Dr. Ryan, for that matter."

Lincoln chuckled. "The ' _Why didn't I think of that?'_ was a nice touch, Kar."

When Michael observed her sly grin in return, he tilted his head. "Great acting performance for both of you, but I'm thinking those bulls won't stay away forever?"

"Right." Lincoln nodded. "We don't got much time, and I need to run some things by you."

"Maybe I should leave?" Karina asked.

"No, don't," Lincoln told her.

"It would ruin the ruse," Michael added. "Besides, we trust you."

She felt touched.

"Okay," Lincoln began. "I did talk to Douchebag like you wanted me to. You owe me, bro."

"Can Paul help Sara?"

"No," Lincoln said.

Michael slouched into the mattress.

"But he can help _you._ "

Crystal eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"It's Scylla—there's a problem with it. Douchebag said if you help them figure it out, he'll try to get the UN to exonerate you again."

Michael stilled, stunned by the news.

Karina wanted to ask about Scylla but knew their time was limited so she kept quiet.

Michael asked, "What's the problem with Scylla?"

"Dunno . . ." He shrugged. "Some kind of glitch or something in the computer. Kellerman said he knows you can fix it."

Biting his lip, Michael grimaced. "Maybe back when I had my LLI."

Lincoln's face fell. "Shit. You think you need it to figure out Scylla?"

"Of course I do!"

Karina cut in, "But how do you know that, Michael?"

"I, I . . . I just know."

"Your brain might function even better without that hypothalamic tumor strangling the optic nerve."

"No." Michael clenched his teeth. "This isn't going to work! Sara—we need to focus on Sara. Stop pushing for my release, both of you. It'll never happen."

Karina could feel fury rolling off Lincoln, and she had to admit she was angry as well. Michael wouldn't even try? Did he _want_ to spend years in prison? Then she looked at her patient with a new understanding. "You're afraid."

"What?"

She nodded. "You're afraid of failing. You never fail. You pull off these incredible stunts to save the people around you, taking all kinds of risks and somehow succeeding, but you can't do the same for yourself."

His eyes flared. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Doctor."

Lincoln broke his silence. "You need to know something, Michael. Sara wasn't sure if I should tell you."

"Sara?" His breath caught in his throat.

"Something happened, uh, she told me something happened. She's still mad you didn't tell her about your nosebleeds and she didn't want you to be mad at her, too, but she knew how upset you'd be, not to mention there's nothing you can do, chained to the bed—"

"Tell me what she said!" A vein on Michael's neck pulsed.

Lincoln glanced at Karina then back at Michael. "Sara's spotting."

Michael gasped.

Karina added, "We talked about her symptoms, and I think the baby will be okay. She's going to see a doctor down there . . ."

Michael's horrified expression sickened Lincoln. "This is why you have to get out of here—you have to go to Sara. You have to give Scylla a try. I'm asking you, father to father, to do this. Sara needs you, Michael. Do it."

His jaw hardened. "I'm not doing _anything_ until I talk to Sara. Call her right now."

"What if the cops come back in, or Wheatley shows up?" Lincoln said. "It's too risky."

"I have to know she's okay. I have to talk to Sara."

Lincoln's hand closed around his cell phone, lying in the pocket of his doctor's coat, right next to the origami crane. He exchanged a worried look with Karina.


	26. Whooping Crane

26\. Whooping Crane

The phone's shrill ring filled the bedroom, and Sara looked at the opposite wall with longing. If she wasn't stuck in bed, following doctor's orders, she could grab the phone from the charger.

She heard clattering in the kitchen. "Fernando!" But there was no reply. It would be useless to holler for Maricruz since she'd taken Lilah shopping in town.

"Fernando?" she tried again. When he began singing _Livin' La Vida Loca_ , she knew getting his attention was hopeless. Why was he endlessly hovering when she wanted to be left alone, but unavailable the one time she needed him?

Hearing the fourth unanswered ring, she muttered, "Oh, hell," and scooted off the bed to grab the phone. Her face lit up when she saw caller ID. "Lincoln!"

There was a pause on the other line, causing Sara's brows to pull together.

"Actually," the velvet voice said, "this is Mr. Crane."

"Whoop!" A shock jolted through her and the phone fell out of her trembling grasp. She clawed at the air for the tumbling phone, but it bounced on the floor. She snatched it and held it to her ear, panting. "You still there?"

"That depends. Is this Mrs. Crane?"

She closed her eyes and feathered one hand over her chest. "No. This is Mrs. _Scofield."_

His deep laugh curled her toes. "I do like the sound of that. We never, uh . . . I never had the chance to call you that, before . . ."

She recalled the ocean-side wedding reception. She'd felt giddy sitting next to her new husband, festive Cuban music in the background, until wailing police sirens had shot the day to hell.

"How're you doing?" Michael asked. "Is the baby okay? Linc told me—"

"The peanut's alright for now," she assured him.

"The peanut?"

"Yeah, well, you already snagged the name 'dumpling' for Lilah, so _Peanut's_ what I'm calling our baby. Just as a precaution, I'm on bed rest for a week."

"So you're in bed?"

With a flash of guilt, Sara realized she stood by the bed, not _in_ it. She flew onto the mattress. "I am now," she panted.

"Sar-aaa?" Michael's voice rose with reproach.

"I'm fine. But your hands . . . the burns . . . how are _you_ feeling?"

"I'm on bed rest, too."

She grinned. "I guess I have to copy everything you do, Scofield—go to prison, escape from prison, stay in bed all day—"

"God, I miss you so much." His sudden seriousness startled her.

"I miss you, too." She inhaled, then choked out, "I thought you died."

He paused. "I'm sorry."

"I thought you were _dead!"_

Michael bowed his head, unable to speak.

Lincoln shot an uneasy glance toward the hospital room door.

Sara ranted, "Do you know what that's like, Michael? To think the love of your life went and died on you? Left you, never to return?"

He replied, "Yes, I do."

She hesitated for a second, then muttered a soft, "Oh."

"At least you didn't think my head was rolling around in a box somewhere."

Her face flushed. "And at least _you_ didn't have to picture me as a crispy fried critter!"

Michael couldn't help it—he began to laugh.

His throaty chuckle was infectious, and Sara's accompanying giggle sliced through her anger. She sighed as she collapsed back on the pillow. "Has Lincoln figured out a way to get you out of there? I'm _still_ waiting on that dinner you promised me, Scofield."

"I'd love to get you some filet mignon—only the best for the governor's daughter."

"Well? When's it going to happen?"

He was silent for a moment. "You and the peanut might have to go without me for a few years."

"Please don't say that, Michael."

"They've got me, Sara . . . they're taking me to a supermax facility. There's no escaping this time."

"I need you. _We_ need you." She hated the desperation creeping into her voice. "Isn't there any way out?"

Michael glanced up at Lincoln and Karina.

His brother loomed over him with a stern look. "Tell her about Kellerman's offer."

"I can't," he whispered. "What if it doesn't work?"

"Tell her."

"Michael?" Sara asked.

He exhaled. "Paul Kellerman approached Linc," he finally admitted.

Her chest tightened. "What did _he_ want?"

"He said there's a glitch with Scylla. If I help them, there's a possibility I can get released." Hearing her sharp intake of air, he said, "But don't get your hopes up—I'm not sure it'll work."

"I know you can fix it. If anyone can do it, you can."

Instead of feeling bolstered by her faith in him, he only felt tremendous pressure. Nobody understood what it was like to possess such freakish perceptual abilities. No one comprehended the raw perceptual power of the LLI, or what it was like to lose it.

He changed the subject. "I've been talking to Blue Phillips about your case."

She felt her stomach twist.

"He thinks he can get you off on self-defense."

"How?"

"Apparently Gretchen provided proof there was a hit out on you, and Jonathan Krantz's daughter turned in additional warehouse video footage."

Her heart fluttered. "It showed Christina pointing the gun at you?"

"Yes. And Henry talked to Alice Simms, so that helped too."

"Oh, he's an amazing man." She bit her lip. "What has to happen next?"

"Um, well . . . I'm working on it, uh, we're looking at some options . . ."

"Michael? What're you hiding?"

He shifted in his bed, dislodging the chains. "Blue says you need to turn yourself in before you can be exonerated."

Lincoln's mouth hung open.

"But I'll never let that happen," Michael added.

"Turn myself in?" Her heart thumped. "But how do we know they can keep us safe from the company?"

Michael nodded. "Exactly—it's too much of a risk. We'll find some other way."

A shattering blast from the kitchen made Sara gasp. It sounded like the kitchen window rained down in a million little pieces.

"What was that?" Michael asked.

She struggled for breath, and whispered, "I don't know. It sounded like a gunshot?"

"Oh, God!"

"Michael," she whimpered. Fear tickled her spine.

"Where's Sucre?"

Sara could hear the concerned voices of Lincoln and Karina in the background. She strained to listen for any sounds in the beach house, but there was silence. "He was in the kitchen," she breathed. "S-S-Should I call for him?"

"Get out of there, Sara! Move. Now."

"Okay." She slunk off the bed. "I'll stop talking—there might be someone in the house."

Michael's eyes widened as he too felt short of breath, his biceps straining against the handcuffs tethering him to the bed railings. "Put the phone on mute!" he hissed at Lincoln. "The company just shot at the house."

"Fuck!" Lincoln's jaw rippled.

Karina covered her mouth.

Keeping the phone on mute, Lincoln pressed the speaker button, filling the hospital room with Sara's frantic panting.

"They're after Sara," Michael moaned, uselessly pulling the chains. "I can't protect her, Linc. The baby, I can't protect them . . . the company will kill them both."

An irate voice from the hospital hallway cut in. "Why was the prisoner left unguarded?"

Beneath his bushy grey eyebrows, Lincoln's eyes met his brother's. "Wheatley's here."

~~ o*o ~~

Skulking toward the front door, Sara froze as a shadow passed the picture window. She spun and dashed in the other direction, but pulled up short once she heard another set of footsteps down the hall, followed by what sounded like a soft groan. How many of them were in the house? Where the hell was Sucre?

She headed away from the sounds, to the kitchen. Her panicked breaths drowned out all noise, and her entire body quivered. She'd faced off with the company before, but her fear was more intense this time, knowing it wasn't only _her_ life at stake. She now had a family to protect.

Steering clear of the shards of glass littering the tile floor, she turned her attention to the stove, drawn by the gurgling noises of a boiling pot of water. On the counter was evidence Sucre had been making her tea: a pink mug and an herb teabag. Sara halted, relieved it wasn't another kind of T-Bag.

The soft click of the front door seized her with terror.

~~ o*o ~~

Michael, Lincoln, and Karina gawked at each other, frozen by panic.

"Who authorized this?" Wheatley's voice from the hallway competed with the strangled sounds of Sara's breaths coming over the phone.

"What should we do?" Karina whispered as she gripped onto the bed railing.

Michael stared at Lincoln, then gestured to the phone in his hand. "Go."

Lincoln shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."

"We can't save her if we're both in jail," Michael hissed.

Todd burst into the room. "What the hell's going on here?"

Lincoln drew the phone to his ear and rushed to the door. "He's fourteen percent BS?" He tried to remember the medical shit Karina had told him. "Damn it! Hold him and I'll be there, stat!"

Todd backed away as the doctor hurried past him.

Lincoln kept his head down and almost careened into the FBI agent as he blew by.

Torn between running after the unknown doctor and checking to make sure his prisoner hadn't tried to rabbit, Todd looked back and forth from the empty doorway to the hospital bed. He glared at Karina. "I told you no other medical personnel in here!"

She stared dumbly back at him for a few seconds. "But, Mr. Scofield had a seizure. I needed help."

Todd noticed that Michael was indeed shaking, looking as white as the sand beaches of Miami. Beads of sweat plastered his forehead, and his chest heaved with each rapid breath. His anguished eyes seemed to plead with the FBI agent.

~~ o*o ~~

Sara huddled in the darkened corner, wedged between the wall and the curio cabinet. The palm of her right hand was on fire, but she didn't let go of the searing pot of water. The footsteps kept coming, slow yet confident, distracting her from the pain in her hand.

Closing her mouth did nothing to quell the deafening sound of her strangled breaths. It was then that she noticed a smear of blood on the floor, splotched next to the shattered pieces of window glass. Her breath quickened.

Bolo entered the kitchen and scanned the area. He smiled when he noticed the same bloodstain that had mesmerized Sara a second before.

She stopped breathing altogether when she saw a dark-haired man cross in front of her. He casually held a shining handgun. He knelt to examine the blood.

Her approach was swift yet soundless and she dumped the pot of scalding hot water over the intruder's head.

"Aaaaaahhhhh!" he screamed, spraying gunshots wildly across the south wall of the kitchen as he plummeted to the floor.

The explosive sounds deafened her and her hands flew up to cover her ears.

Crashing to the floor, the man gripped his steaming hair and the handgun rattled away from his writhing body.

Wide-eyed, Sara stepped forward to kick the gun. It spun and came to rest under the cupboard on the other side of the room.

She looked up to find Sucre barreling into the kitchen, wielding a piece of wood over his head. Sara flinched back when she noticed the fury in his eyes.

Sucre followed the agonized howls down to the floor, and added to them by thwapping the wood over the man's head.

"Oommph!" Bolo grunted.

Sucre kept wailing on Bolo's head, shoulders, and back. He stopped only when Sara's repeated screams of "Fernando!" entered his consciousness.

Looking around him in a daze, he blinked several times. "¿Estás bien?" ("Are you okay?")

"Sí," she said. "Estamos bien." ("We're okay.")

"I thought you didn't speak Spanish?"

She made sure the assassin was still out cold. "I was in the Spanish club in high school. It's just when you get talking really fast, I can't understand you."

As if to prove her point, Sucre let out a speedy cascade of Spanish swear words as he reached for his shoulder.

"You're bleeding!" Sara examined the area around his collarbone.

"The cabrón shot me from behind the house." He turned his doe-eyes to her. "I was just trying to make you some tea, mami."

She pointed to the weapon on the floor, lying next to the discarded pot. "Where'd you get that piece of wood?"

"From the slats on Lilah's crib."

"Nice McGyver move." She shook her head. "I'll take a look at your shoulder, but we better do something with _him_ first." She pointed to the man.

"Sí."

They found some bungee cords and trussed up the unconscious man after she'd determined he still had a pulse.

Sucre noticed that she breathed in through her teeth as she handled the rope. "What's wrong?"

She shrugged and held up the palm of her hand. "I burned it with the pot handle."

The red blisters lining her palm looked angry, but she didn't seem too concerned. He grinned. "That was before you decided to serve the asshole some tea?"

"He looked thirsty."

He chuckled. "So now you and Michael both have burned hands, right?"

Her head shot up. "Oh my God, Michael! He was on the phone!"

"What?! You talked to Michael?"

She searched for the phone and found it face up by the stove. Lunging for it, she shouted, "Michael!"

~~ o*o ~~

"Are you okay?" Todd asked the prisoner.

When Michael didn't respond, Todd looked at Karina. "What caused the seizure?"

It took her a second to answer. "I think it might've been a delayed allergic reaction to the hydromorphone."

"The pain med? But he needs that, right?"

"It was time to switch to a pill form, anyway, to start weaning him off the medication. We already clamped off the IV." She moved around the bed as she ad-libbed, "Dr. Ryan's a pain management specialist. He suggested the pill I'll be starting for Mr. Scofield. Would you excuse me, Agent Wheatley?"

He stepped back from the bed.

She explained, "I need to remove the patient's IV."

Through it all, Michael sat stock-still, seemingly stuck in another world.

Karina fiddled with the IV as Todd continued studying the subdued prisoner. He cocked his head to one side. "So, she's weaning you off pain meds, Scofield? Must mean you're headed to supermax soon."

The goading statement had zero effect on Michael, who was leading a silent vigil inside his head. Though he wasn't a religious man, he silently begged, _Please, God. Please let her and the baby be all right. Please don't make them pay for my mistakes._

As Karina slid out the needle, she felt the phone in her doctor's coat pocket vibrate. She turned to the supply cabinet lining the side wall, and pretended to rifle through a drawer as she read the text message.

"Agent Wheatley?" She smiled. "It's okay if you let the officer back in the room. I think we have Mr. Scofield taken care of, now."

"Of course." Todd marched to the door.

Karina shoved the phone in front of Michael's face, hoping he could read Lincoln's message in the split second they had alone.

 _Company assassin. Everyone's okay._

Michael's head thumped back on the pillow as he closed his eyes, releasing a long sigh. "Thank you, God," he whispered.

The phone rested snugly in her pocket before Todd strolled back into the room, followed by one of the police officers who resumed his station in the corner.

Todd approached the bed, amazed by the difference in Michael's coloring and facial expression. "Well, I'd say you know what you're doing, Dr. Daniels. The prisoner looks better already. He'll be out of here in no time."

Michael's eyes snapped open. A challenge glittered in his gemstone eyes. "I don't think I'll enter supermax anytime soon, Todd."

Authors Note: Ooh! Todd ain't gonna like that. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, my friends. More soon.


	27. Apprehension

This chapter is for BlackxValentine. :-) Thank you all for reading!

27\. Apprehension

Todd Wheatley glared at Karina. "You're still here, Doctor. Why is that?"

Karina looked at Michael then back to Todd.

"Does the prisoner need any urgent care?" Todd asked.

"I do need to change his dressings, but that can wait, I guess."

"Good. Then you may leave."

Karina followed his order. Eager to catch up with Lincoln after the drama with Sara, she touched the phone in her coat pocket before she was out the door.

"You doubt you'll go to Super-max anytime soon?" Todd's eyes tapered into slits. _This_ was the Michael Scofield he'd prepared for—the righteous genius he'd expected. "I got news for you, Scofield. You're going. You're going soon. And once you're in, you won't come out, not for a loooooong time."

"We'll see about that." Michael set his stare to a steely blue.

Sweeping a look down the chains, Todd smirked. "You can't even take a piss by yourself. How do you expect to beat an escape charge?"

Michael's silence made Todd squint at him. His smile faded, and he smoothed his hand across his stubbly jaw. "Just what exactly do you have planned?"

Todd's five-o'clock shadow reminded Michael of his brother's tendency to darken along the jaw-line mere seconds after shaving. What was Lincoln doing now? Would he go to Costa Rica to check on Sara and Sucre? Would he call Paul Kellerman?

"Nothing you need to worry about, Todd." Michael nodded at his chains. "I can't even go to the bathroom by myself, remember?"

Todd opened his mouth to reply but the ring of his cell phone cut him short. Frowning, he answered the call. "Yeah? . . . No shit? . . . Whoa!"

The exhilaration in Todd's voice gave Michael pause.

"No, I don't speak Spanish," Todd continued. "But wait, I think I know an agent who does . . . What's our timeline? . . . Great, get back to me when you know more."

Todd grinned as he ended the call. Now _he_ was the one who possessed a secret plan, and the power shift was glorious. "Life is good, Scofield."

Michael's heart thudded.

~~ o*o ~~

"What took so long?" Lincoln asked.

Karina tossed him the car keys across the hood of the car and climbed into the passenger seat. She marveled at how easily she relinquished the leadership role. It was _her_ car and _her_ city, but it just seemed right to let him drive after he'd waited for her outside the hospital.

"I had to make sure the pain meds were all lined up for Michael." She remembered his anguish after he'd endured hours without medication. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

"He knows Sara survived the attack, right? He's okay?"

"I'd say more than okay." She smiled. "He seemed feistier than I've ever seen him. He basically told Wheatley to fuck off."

He made the turn onto the divided highway dotted with palm trees, and smiled. He loved her gritty nature. He loved that she was a highly educated physician yet had no qualms about dropping the f-bomb now and then, and from her it didn't sound crude at all. She was real. She was solid.

"Not sure it's a good idea to antagonize that prick, Wheatley," he said.

"As great as it was to hear Michael put Wheatley in his place, you may be right. That agent has an ego the size of a distended bowel."

Even without an authentic medical background, Dr. Ryan found himself chuckling. They pulled into the garage of her apartment complex. He punched her floor number after they entered the elevator. "Wonder what trouble the boys got themselves into this time."

She liked the sound of that. The boys. _Their_ boys. "I hesitate to find out."

They entered the apartment to find the teenagers' lanky limbs sprawled on each end of the sofa as they watched _South Park_. As they looked up, their eyes appeared glazed-over.

"Mom!" Ben called.

"Gramps!" LJ said.

Lincoln shook his head as he yanked off his fake beard.

Karina kicked aside her son's foot so she could collapse between Ben and LJ. "So what've you two been up to?"

Ben nodded at the TV. "Duh, Mom."

"Did it work?" LJ asked, sitting up. "Didya get to talk to Uncle Mike?"

"Worked like a charm." Lincoln lowered into an easy chair at the end of the sofa. "You should've seen Michael's seizure."

"I had to keep reminding myself not to rush in and treat him," Karina said. "But then the FBI agent arrived."

LJ sat up taller. "He did? Holy crap! What'd you do?"

"We were fine." Lincoln held up his palm. "I was on the phone with Sara, so I pretended to rush out of the room for a medical emergency."

"Sara got to talk to Uncle Mike?" LJ's blinks came rapid fire.

"Yes, it was pretty great," Karina said. She'd never seen Michael smile so much. And, she'd never seen him look so apprehensive.

Lincoln cleared his throat. "LJ, something happened while Sara was on the phone." His jaw tensed. "A company agent broke into the house."

LJ gasped. "Is Sara okay?"

"Yeah," Lincoln reassured him in his deep baritone. "Sara and Sucre are both all right."

"The . . . the baby?"

Lincoln nodded. "Sara said everything's fine."

"Oh." LJ chewed on his lip. "That's good, but I meant, uh, the other baby? Uh, Lilah?"

Lincoln felt touched by his son's concern for a baby he barely knew. "Maricruz took Lilah into town before the attack."

LJ exhaled. "So did Sucre . . . did he hit the guy?"

"Yeah, he did, but first Sara poured a pot of boiling water over his head."

"Awesome." LJ's eyes lit up. Lincoln had felt the same happiness when he found out Sara had ironed Kellerman's chest.

Lincoln said, "They have the company guy tied up, and we're trying to figure out what to do with him. Sara was going to take care of Sucre's wound, then call me back."

"His wound?" Ben asked. His gaze bounced from one Burrows to another.

"Sucre got shot by the hit man," Lincoln explained. "But Sara said it looked like the bullet went straight through, so it wasn't a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Karina shook her head. "Y'all live in an alternate universe."

"Definitely," Ben agreed. He looked at LJ. "Have you ever shot someone?"

LJ's head retracted. "No, dude!"

Ben turned to Lincoln. "What about you? Have you ever shot someone?"

Lincoln's cheeks colored and he averted his eyes.

"Of course not," LJ answered for him.

Lincoln's mind drifted back to capers with Derek Sweeney. He hoped his son would never know that side of him.

"My dad got set up for murdering a guy, but he didn't shoot him. He would never shoot somebody." LJ nodded. "Right, Dad?"

Licking his lip, Lincoln was about to respond when his phone rang. He reached into his pocket. "That must be Sara."

But when he answered, his eyes got big. "Absolutely not, Blue. No way I'm letting LJ go down there."

LJ exchanged a confused look with Karina and Ben.

~~ o*o ~~

"Coming!" Alex Mahone hollered. He stumbled as he pulled on some jeans, then made a beeline to the hotel room door. He was shirtless and still wet from the shower.

After a quick peek through the peephole, he unlocked the door. "I may be getting old, Lang, but I _did_ hear the first ten knocks—"

"Shh." Felicia scurried into the hotel room holding a brown paper bag. After Alex closed the door, she said, "I don't know if Wheatley had me followed—wouldn't put it past that crazy bastard."

Alex shook his head. "You're probably right."

She took in his wiry musculature, hardened from years on the job and months on the run. The granite planes of his pectoral muscles, the hard bulge of his biceps, the ripples of his abdomen . . . "Jeez, Mahone." She swallowed. "I know we're in a hotel room, but keep it professional. Put some clothes on."

"Well, give me a chance!" He strode to the makeshift closet by the sink.

She caught the shine of silvery moon-shaped scars covering his back. "Alex?"

He swiveled to face her.

"How'd you, um, how'd you get those scars?" She stepped toward him.

His light-blue eyes darkened, then he shrugged. "Desert Storm. Shrapnel."

She reached for his shoulder and pulled him around to take a closer look.

Though his heart thundered, he let her stare at him. Her soft fingertips slid down his spine, traced the crescent shape of each scar.

She felt a hitch in her throat when she counted over twenty marks on his skin. These weren't shrapnel scars. These wounds had been with him for a long time, maybe since childhood. Her hand jolted from his skin once she realized he trembled under her touch.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"For what?" His voice was tight, and he kept his head down as he lunged for his button-down shirt.

"For serving our country."

Once he had the shirt on, he exhaled. "It was nothing."

She stepped toward him, her big, brown eyes searching for his. Once his furtive gaze connected, she said, "It was _something."_

"So." He cleared his throat and buttoned his shirt. "What's Wheatley doing?"

"He went to the hospital." A smile tugged the corner of her mouth. "Do you know what my assignment is right now?"

"What?"

"I'm supposed to track down you and Lincoln. Wheatley wants to question you about Sara's escape."

"Good work, Lang—you got me. Will you cuff me and haul me in now?"

 _I would love to frisk you_. "Every condemned man deserves his last meal." She gestured to the paper bag on the table. "Do you like Italian food?"

Alex arched his eyebrows. "Wow, Lang. Well done—I'm starved. Do you do this for all your suspects?"

When her phone rang, she held up her index finger. "Hold that thought." She answered the call, and tilted her head. "Yes, I speak Spanish. Hablo español." Her lips parted as she listened. "You want me to apprehend _who?"_

~~ o*o ~~

Sara looked around at the black hair and brown skin of the other inmates crowding the holding cell. To avoid the putrid stench of unwashed bodies and cigarette smoke, she tried to take shallow breaths.

She couldn't believe she'd been arrested and thrown in jail once again. This was her third incarceration in three months—her third since meeting Michael. And unlike her stay in Miami-Dade, when she'd felt comforted by her husband doing everything in his power to free her, this time he was thousands of miles north. This time Michael was also in jail. Fear flooded her veins.

She looked through the rusting metal bars but could find no sign of Sucre. Thinking back to the past two hours, she could still hear his rapid-fire Spanish as the police had shoved him, handcuffed, into the back of a cruiser, right before they'd done the same to her in another police car . . .

 _Sucre winced as Sara stitched the deltoid muscle of his shoulder._

" _Sorry." She grimaced._

" _Está bien." He gritted his teeth. "Just do what you got to do."_

" _Hopefully this'll be the last time I sew you up from a gun-shot wound."_

 _Sucre frowned as he looked at the trussed-up man on the floor. "These pendejos just keep coming."_

 _On cue, Bolo began to moan._

 _When Fernando shivered from the pain of the needle, Sara tried to distract him. "What'll we do with that creep?"_

 _He took a deep breath. "Does Michael have any ideas?"_

" _I'm supposed to call Lincoln after I stitch you up."_

" _Sounds good, Doc."_

" _¡Alto! (Freeze!)"_

 _Two Costa Rican police officers pointed their weapons straight at them. Sara froze, holding the needle mid-air._

 _Sucre splayed his hands out to the side and exchanged quick words with the cops. A moment later, he explained to Sara, "There was a report of gun-shots, so they came to investigate." The officers paced the kitchen, their boots crunching on the shards of window glass littering the floor. "They asked if you're a doctor."_

 _Sara's eyes fluttered shut. How many red-haired American physicians were hiding down in Central America, targeted by assassins?_

 _One officer still had his handgun trained on them. Sara asked, "May I finish his stitches, por favor?"_

 _He nodded, and it took her a few more minutes while Sucre conversed with the officers. At one point he became animated as he pointed at the tied-up man on the floor, and Sara had to remind him to hold still._

 _When she finished, one officer spoke into his radio. Sara tensed when she heard, "fugitivos americanos"._

 _Sucre whispered, "We've been made, mami."_

The American fugitives had been apprehended.


	28. Orange Sky

28\. Orange Sky

 _When I am alone  
When I've thrown off the weight of this crazy stone  
When I've lost all care for the things I own  
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you  
You who are my home  
You who are my home _

_Orange Sky,_ Alexi Murdoch

Handcuffed to a rotting wooden chair, Sara fought off tears. After sitting in the interrogation room of the Costa Rican police station for hours now, she rued her initial gratitude for getting away from the other women in the holding cell. Now, she didn't feel so grateful for the alone time. She only felt lonely.

God, she missed him during times like these—when she was pursued by assassins, on the wrong end of the law. No loved ones like Sucre, Maricruz, Lilah, Lincoln, or LJ to distract her. No pounding ocean surf to occupy her mind. These were the times she pined for his steadying presence to guide her through her fear.

A thunderous growl erupted from her stomach, and she cradled her baby bump with her free hand. Tears prickled her eyes. "Hang in there, peanut," she whispered. "We'll try to get you some food soon." The wilting heat pressed down on her, and the hard chair hurt her back. _Not quite the bed rest I've been prescribed_.

She sat up. Had the baby just moved? It was too early in her pregnancy, right? She touched her belly— _their_ miraculous creation—and began to feel less alone. Less weighted down by the company stone. She'd fight to keep their baby alive and strong, until she'd reunite with Michael, the man who was simply her _home._

~~ o*o ~~

The light drone of the private jet lulled LJ as he gazed out the window. He noticed the sun breaking through wisps of cotton clouds, illuminating the expanse of ocean below them—the Caribbean Sea.

The cockpit door swung open and Agent Felicia Lang emerged. She looked at her travel companion buckled into one of the eight seats in the mid-size cabin. "We'll land in about thirty minutes, LJ. You okay?"

He tensed, but nodded.

"Need anything?"

"Nope."

She eyed the plastic cup on the tray in front of him, full of ice but drained of liquid. "How 'bout a refill of Coke?"

He shrugged. "Sure, I guess." As she opened a cabinet near the cockpit, he asked, "Did they teach you that in FBI school? How to play flight attendant?"

His snide tone made her smirk. She supposed she deserved his mistrust after the Burrows' recent interactions with corrupt law enforcement. "Too bad I took a sick day when they trained us in customer service." She approached with a can of soda. "Hope I don't spill it all over you."

His crystal eyes rolled up, almost taking her breath away with their beauty. Those eyes hid nothing—she could easily read his fear. "You're not under arrest. You're just coming along as a witness. You agreed to this, remember? For Ms. Lugo?"

He nodded, recalling his father's phone conversation with Blue Phillips. His dad had looked apoplectic upon learning the cops had arrested Sara and Sucre.

But apparently they weren't the only collars. Police had also arrested a Filipino man for launching an assault against the beach house, and the car found a half-mile down the road matched the description LJ had provided after the gas station shooting in Panama. The Costa Rican police wanted to question LJ, but at first Lincoln had wanted no part of it. However, the opportunity to get justice for Sofia, by identifying her possible killer, had swayed him in the end. For Sofia, Lincoln had finally relented. He hadn't minded the idea of LJ finding out how bad things looked for Sara and Sucre, either.

It had become a Triple S mission for LJ: _for Sofia, Sara, and Sucre._

Knowing he couldn't risk arrest by accompanying his son to FBI headquarters, Lincoln had been forced to let him go. LJ was still a little sore from his father's bone-crunching hug before Blue had taken him to Agent Lang.

"That looks good." Felicia nodded at his drink. "I can feel the heat intensify as we head south. I'll get one, too."

Once she'd poured herself a Coke, she surprised LJ by buckling herself in next to him.

He noticed the bulge of a weapon beneath her sleek black blazer. "You know, there _are_ six other seats on this plane."

"I wouldn't want you to get lonely."

He let a few minutes go by. "What's that open space in the back of the plane for?"

"Cargo," Felicia said. "You never know what we'll need it for."

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever put back there?"

She leaned back. "Uh . . ." She frowned, thinking hard, then grinned. "Well, one time we had a couple of parrots in cages back there."

"Why?"

"Don't ask." She shook her head, but soon her smile returned. "They were from a drug dealer's house, and my superior thought they'd divulge key facts about future transactions. It was ridiculous—I wasted hours trying to coax information out of the dumbass parrots."

LJ laughed. "That's not quite what you trained for either, huh?"

"Sometimes this job isn't so glamorous."

He looked out the window again, lost in memories.

"Speaking of jobs, what're your career aspirations, LJ? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I sure as hell don't want to be an FBI agent."

Felicia arched her eyebrows.

He remembered Arizona when he sat across from Agent Mahone. Alex wore a crisp white shirt with black tie whereas LJ was relegated to a yellow prison jumpsuit.

 _Alex leaned forward. "I have to tell you. What your dad and uncle pulled off . . . very impressive. I've been doing this fourteen years and most escapes can be attributed to dumb luck or brute force. The level of planning and sophistication that went into this one, and eight guys got out. I really do, professionally speaking, have a lot of admiration for Lincoln and Michael."_

" _Cool." LJ stared at him. "Now we're buddies."_

Bile pressed up his throat as he remembered his helplessness that day. The fear of being locked up forever. More of the same awaited his aunt and uncle—different FBI agents, same scenario.

After a few minutes, LJ's eyes roamed the cabin. "So, you drink Coke." He frowned. "My mom would only drink Diet Coke." His lips trembled.

Felicia felt his hostility slide into sadness, spinning off of him like thread unraveling from a spool. She'd never met Lincoln Burrows, but from what she'd heard, he was a gruff, stoic man. His son seemed nothing like him.

She offered, "Thanks for helping the FBI."

"This isn't for the FBI. This is for Sofia." _And for Sara, too._

Felicia nodded.

"Do you have to bring Aunt Sara back to the states?" he asked.

"Afraid so."

"She never should've gone to prison in the first place. It was self-defense!"

"Then the justice system will exonerate her."

He blew out a breath. _"Justice?"_

She thought about how close Lincoln had come to being executed for a crime he didn't commit. "I know our system's not perfect, but it's all we have. Don't you want Dr. Tancredi to have the chance at freedom?"

"But she's gonna lose the baby—it's too much stress on her."

"I know, I know. Your attorney's already told me a hundred times about her need for bed rest. I'll do my best to take care of her, LJ."

His hands fisted in his lap. He didn't believe one word.

~~ o*o ~~

The sound of the door unlocking filled Sara with hope. Hope that was quickly dashed by the FBI agent—Lang was her name?—striding in. Sara's worry that Costa Rica had an extradition treaty with the US was now reality. Her stomach twisted into a knot. But the next person to walk into the room elicited quite a different reaction.

"LJ!" She tried to stand to hug him, but the handcuff thwarted her.

LJ noticed her frail appearance, accentuated by the dark circles under her eyes. He looked at Felicia. "Can I, um . . .?"

Felicia nodded, and LJ stepped toward his aunt. He hesitated for a moment before squatting to wrap his arms around her.

When she felt the soft cotton of his light-blue shirt on her face, she could no longer fight back tears.

"Sorry." Sara sniffed after he stepped back. "I can't seem to stop crying these days."

"I know." He rolled his eyes.

"What're you doing here, LJ?"

The door to the interrogation room opened again and a dark-haired police officer filled the doorway.

"Vámanos," he ordered, glaring at LJ.

"What?" Sara gasped. "You're not under arrest, too?"

"Nah, it's cool. You know the company agent that attacked you? We think he might be the same creep who shot Sofia."

Sara blinked. "Wha . . . you're not going near him, are you? Stay away from him!"

"It's alright," Felicia assured her. "LJ will flip through some mug shots, that's all. He won't be anywhere near the suspect."

"You're not doing a live line-up?" asked Sara.

Felicia shook her head. "You negated that possibility when you scalded him with boiling water. If only one man in the line-up had burns, it'd be obvious 'one of these is not like the other'."

Sara blushed.

"Well I'm glad you boiled him," LJ said.

Felicia turned to the officer and spoke to him in Spanish, ending with "¿Verdad?"

"Sí," he confirmed.

"Go with the officer, LJ," Felicia said. "I need to have some words with your aunt."

Worried crystal eyes bounced from Sara to Felicia before he allowed himself to be escorted out of the room.

Sara swallowed hard as Felicia rummaged around in her bag.

Felicia found what she was looking for and set a colorful box in front of Sara. She unfolded the box top. "Here you go."

Sara saw four glazed donuts in the Krispy Kreme box. Her eyes snapped up, glistening from recent tears.

Felicia shrugged. "You said you wanted one."

A Chicago dockside flashed in Sara's mind.

 _She'd just hung up with him, still grinning from her question, "Michael Scofield, are you asking me to sail off into the sunset with you?" Her elation vanished when she looked in her rearview mirror and saw an unmarked car—the feds. There'd be no way she'd lead them to Michael._

 _Her heart thudded as she realized they wouldn't sail off into the sunset together._

 _Soon Agent Lang clasped her wrists in handcuffs behind her back, while Alex Mahone's frustrated glare bore down on her. "Somebody get her a damn donut!"_

On the docks, the comment had been a desperate joke, but now she was famished. She yearned for those damn donuts.

"Go ahead, you can eat—" The words were barely out of Felicia's mouth before Sara had inhaled one donut and reached for her second.

"Damn, girl." Felicia chuckled at the carnage. "You _must_ be eating for two." She rifled through her bag again and took out a carton of milk she'd purchased at a convenience mart along the way. "For the baby."

Sara was on the verge of crying again as she accepted the milk with shaking hands. She downed it in ten seconds, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Why're you being so nice to me?"

Felicia paused. "Maybe you deserve some kindness, after all you've been through."

Sara knew she was headed back to prison, where there'd once again be a price on her head. Did she deserve nice treatment? Did she deserve kindness after she'd let out eight prisoners, then had shot and killed two people? No, that couldn't be it.

"Or maybe I'm working with Alex now," Felicia added.

Sara studied her in a new light.

Felicia remembered running through a forest in pursuit of a criminal.

 _She rounded a tree and there he was. Alex's eyes widened as he held her gaze. Felicia gulped, then swiveled away from him. When she turned back, he was gone._

Back then, she'd chosen personal ethics over professional ethics, looking the other way as Alex eluded the FBI. Now, she sized up the pregnant woman. Tall and elegant, Sara seemed way out of place shackled to a chair in this hovel.

Would Felicia make the same choice this time—look the other way and let her captive go? How would she explain such a misstep to her bosses? Would Sara indeed be safer on her own, knowing the potential for more company roaches surviving the government's counter-attack? Would she ever have a shot at freedom if, paradoxically, Felicia did _not_ keep her in custody?

The food seemed to bring some color back to Sara's cheeks. "What's happening to Fernando Sucre?"

"He was released hours ago, once the police confirmed his exoneration from the UN."

There was a sharp rap on the door. "Médico," a male voice said, and Felicia unlocked the door.

Sara watched as two paramedics rolled a gurney in. She could follow Felicia's simple Spanish commands, and her eyes widened. "You want me on the gurney?"

Felicia turned to her. "It's a long flight to Miami, and your attorney insists we address your health concerns en route."

"You're taking me to Miami on a _bed?"_

~~ o*o ~~

"But I want to sit in the back row," LJ complained. He craned his neck around to look at the cargo space behind him.

Felicia met Sara's eyes. She'd handcuffed her to a gurney, which was secured to the floor of the plane. Felicia frowned at LJ. "Fine, but I'll have to make concessions."

He relocated his seat to the last row, mere feet in front of Sara's bed. He was wondering why Agent Lang followed so closely but when he sat down he received his answer. Lightning quick, she handcuffed him to the seat.

"Hey!" He ratted the cuff against the armrest. "You said I wasn't under arrest."

"You're not," Felicia said. "However, you _are_ the nephew of a transported prisoner, and you're sitting very close to her. Plus, you have Michael Scofield's genes."

Sara found herself smiling. Her belly was full from the burrito Felicia had given her, and her head lulled back into the pillow. She supposed she should be terrified by her current predicament, but all she could think about was the safety of her baby.

Felicia said, "Besides, as I understand it, you two were in the custody of company goons together in Panama. So . . ." She looked back and forth at their handcuffs. "You should be used to this by now."

"You're a riot," LJ growled.

Felicia grinned. "You did good today, LJ. You got justice for Sofia."

Despite her fatigue, Sara's head popped up. "So it was the same guy?"

"Yes." Felicia's eyes narrowed. "A company man named Bolo."

"He only has one name?" LJ scowled. "Who does he think he is? Madonna or something?"

That drew a chuckle from Felicia. "I don't know who _he_ thinks he is, but _I_ know who he is: a criminal. Another company man off the market. We're taking them down, one by one."

"With the help of Aunt Sara," LJ said.

"Right."

Sara's eyelids drooped and she drifted off to sleep with thoughts of battling company agents. She wondered what other household objects she could use to defend herself. A flashlight, maybe? A broom handle?

LJ gazed out the window at the brilliant orange sky created by the setting sun. They were going home.

Author's Note: Gracias for reading, amigos!


	29. Deal or No Deal

29\. Deal or No Deal

"What's your fucking problem, Burrows?"

Cradling the phone to his ear, Lincoln flinched. "I'm great. What's _your_ fucking problem?"

"You're not _great,"_ Paul Kellerman said. "I've asked you the same question three times now, and you're still not listening. You need to focus if we're going to pull this off."

Lincoln licked his bottom lip. Douchebag was right—he _was_ distracted. All he could think about was LJ currently in the possession of the FBI. Sure, Alex had promised that Lang was legit, but it didn't make Lincoln feel any better. He was still suspicious of Alex Mahone and his FBI cronies.

"What's your question again?" Lincoln asked. He vaguely recalled their discussion about Michael fixing Scylla, which had its own worrisome aspects. The UN had no clue that Michael had limited use of his injured hands and even less access to his vanished LLI.

Paul sighed. "We need to know if Michael will work from the inside, do what he does best. Once we get him out of there, we think he'll only need a few hours to get Scylla up and running again."

"Wait a minute." His stomach dropped. "You're talking _escape?_ You want Michael to break out of the hospital, right out from under the FBI's nose?"

"It's the only way, Burrows. We've tried to negotiate with the FBI, but we're running up against a stone wall. I promise the UN will smooth things over with the feds once he does this for us. I'm sure they'll exonerate him."

"Your promises mean jack shit."

Paul listened to the snorting bull on the line.

Finally Lincoln spoke. "Let's say Michael agrees to the escape. Which he won't. What do you need him to do?"

"You said you have a female doctor on the inside, right?" Kellerman chuckled as he remembered Sara's assistance in Fox River. "Michael's sure good at this scenario. Anyway, we get the doctor to distract the police officer, get his keys somehow—"

Lincoln ended the call.

From the kitchen, Karina studied Lincoln, who was red-faced and muttering swear words. She crossed over to the sofa.

"Hey." She came up behind him and stroked his tense neck. "It'll be okay."

Across the room, Ben pretended to focus on his Algebra homework, but kept his eye on LJ's dad. The man was like a caged cougar, all coiled and ready to pounce, jacking up Ben's anxiety with his mom so close.

"It's _won't_ be okay," Lincoln said. "No deal. No way in hell we'll let Kellerman hang us out to dry—"

The vibration in his hand cut him off, and he gave the phone a hard stare before answering.

"Don't ever hang up on me again," Paul raged.

"No way your escape plan happens. Michael won't stand for it, and neither will I."

"Where'd your brother's balls go? He doubts he can pull off another escape? It's a goddamn unsecured hospital, for chrissake!"

Lincoln's fists twitched with the desire to pound him. "This has nothing to do with Michael. We're _not_ getting more people killed, trying to save our own asses. Find some other way to get him to Scylla."

"Do you _want_ your brother in prison for the rest of his life?"

"Yes. Yes I do, _Paul."_

As Lincoln blew out a breath of hot air, he felt Karina's warm hands on the back of his neck, kneading his taut muscles. He tried to relax. "Listen, Kellerman, you're working with the freaking UN and you're telling me they have no sway with the feds? Let _them_ figure something out."

"The UN has less power than you think. They're a bunch of fucking pansies, actually. Once I get Scylla back on track, I'm hightailing it out of here."

"Oh yeah? And who'll you kiss up to next?"

"An organization with some actual influence in this world—definitely not the UN."

"You miss all the power, don't you? Framing people for murder, killing bishops, banging the President of the United States . . ."

That last comment caused Ben's head to snap up and Karina's hands to freeze on Lincoln's skin.

"Who made you my damn career counselor?" Paul hissed. "Let's get back on track. You need to convince Michael to escape from that hospital."

"No! It's not fair to ask us to take on all the risk. What if Michael gets killed trying to get out of there? _You_ need to convince the FBI to let Michael have a go at Scylla."

"It's not going to happen."

Lincoln narrowed his eyes. "Then I guess it's no deal."

"Call me when you stop being such a stubborn asshole, you son of a bitch."

"I'll get right on that, Douchebag—"

This time Kellerman was the one to hang up.

Lincoln shook his head. "Swear to God, I _hate_ that guy."

Karina's hands slid down to Lincoln's muscular shoulders and stroked the tension away.

"Ohhhh." He exhaled, closed his eyes, and leaned back on the sofa.

"That didn't go so well," she said.

"We're screwed."

"You said something about not getting more people killed? What'd you mean by that?"

Lincoln's eyes opened and he sat up straight, leaning away from Karina. "Nothing."

"Lincoln." She circled around the sofa and sat. "Talk to me. What's Kellerman's plan?"

Ben gave up all pretense of doing homework and joined them on the chair next to the sofa.

Looking from one set of curious hazel eyes to another, both framed by honey-blond hair, Lincoln slumped. "He wants you to get the cop's keys and help Michael escape from the hospital, so he can fix Scylla."

"Kewl," Ben marveled.

"It's _not_ cool!" Lincoln bellowed. "Because there's no way it's happening." He tensed when he noticed her frown. "You don't have to worry, Kar. We'd never put you in that kind of danger. I told Kellerman to keep trying with the FBI—"

"I think I could do it," she said.

" _What?"_ Lincoln recoiled.

She continued, "If it's Larry, I think it could work."

"Who the hell's Larry?"

"Oh—Officer Lutz." Her face flushed as a scheme crystallized. "I've caught him checking out my boobs a couple of times. I could probably seduce him to get his keys, _if_ he's the one guarding Michael at the time."

Lincoln stared at Karina with his jaw unhinged. There were so many things wrong with what she'd just said that he had no idea where to start. He was most bowled over, surprisingly, by a flush of jealousy heating his face. How dare that fat cop check out Karina's luscious bazongas!

He couldn't help but sneak a peek at her buxom chest to admire the mounds of flesh that were certainly more than a handful. And Lincoln had large hands.

Catching Ben's enthusiasm for the suggested capers brought Lincoln back to earth. He glared at Karina. "Hell, no. You're not going _near_ that Larry guy."

"Well, why not?"

"Because Michael won't allow it. _I_ won't allow it."

"Michael's burns get better every day, and pretty soon I'll have to release him." Karina frowned. "This might be our last chance before he goes to super-max."

"Are you blind to what's happened to Sara? She's almost died countless times, all because she left a door unlocked back in Fox River. Do you want that to happen to you? To be shot at, get arrested, fight off assassins in prison, almost lose your baby—all because of one choice you made to help someone? Someone who probably doesn't _deserve_ your help in the first place?"

Her jaw lowered. "Are you saying I'd risk leaving Ben without a parent? I'd never act unless I was sure it'd work!"

"And how the hell would you know that? Have you ever done something like this before? That cop won't just hand over his keys, you know."

Their shouts had escalated and Lincoln noticed Ben was wide-eyed and trembling. Given that his father had died when he was only three, the boy had probably never witnessed a domestic dispute before. Unlike LJ.

Lincoln bolted off the couch and prowled over to the sliding glass door, retreating to the balcony.

"Ben, honey, sorry for all the yelling." She took a deep breath. "How about you do your homework in your room?"

He chewed on his lip. "If you get arrested, where will I stay?"

Her face fell. "Oh, Ben." She reached out to smooth one hand down the side of his face, relieved he let her. "Lincoln's right. I wouldn't know the first thing about stealing a police officer's keys. I just . . . want to help? The thought of LJ's uncle rotting away in prison is horrifying."

Ben nodded. "I get it, Mom." He went over to the kitchen table and scooped up his Algebra textbook. "It'll work out. They've survived this far, right?"

She smiled faintly as he retreated to his bedroom. "Right."

~~ o*o ~~

From the parking lot of a nearby restaurant, a man adjusted his binoculars as he got a better look at the high-rise apartment building. He was careful not to touch his sensitive face. He'd almost passed out from accidentally brushing the back of his hand across his scorched cheek.

This was the third physician he'd staked out, and he prayed Dr. Karina Daniels wouldn't represent strike three in his search.

Only a week ago he'd researched local burn specialists in desperation to get his face back. His Internet search had revealed about fifty physicians specializing in Burn/Trauma/Surgical Critical Care, but only five had received "Best Physician" ratings in a recent Miami magazine poll. On those five he focused.

Preparing to schedule an appointment, he tried to drum up a plausible cover story for the burns he'd sustained. He could hardly tell the truth: a bomb exploded from a computer device he himself had stolen.

It was then he'd had an epiphany. Who else would need medical assistance for burns? The man responsible for planting said bomb! Michael Scofield had also been burned—electrical burns—according to media reports. He was likely out there somewhere, getting help from a burn specialist.

Maybe he could find a doctor _and_ a target for his vengeance in one fell swoop.

A revenge plan had begun to take shape. Too bad Christina wasn't around. She'd been the best strategist of them all.

He looked up to the apartment balconies, counting three over from the left. _There_ was Daniels' apartment. He sat back in the driver's seat and waited.

~~ o*o ~~

"How're you doing?" Karina slid the glass door shut behind her. The humid air had a twinge of coolness to it on this late November afternoon, and she shivered while leaning on the railing, gazing out at the marina.

Lincoln wasn't as cool. His face was still flushed, and he seemed too angry to talk, managing only a grunt in response.

She bit her lip and tapped the railing with her fingertips, marshaling the courage to speak to him. "I'm not often wrong." Her mouth tightened. "But this time I was." She took a deep breath and turned to him. "I was wrong. It was stupid of me to think I could outmaneuver the police. If you don't want me to help Michael escape, I won't."

He got off the chair and stepped closer. "You offered to help. I . . . I love that you did that. You care about Michael, I can see that, and it means a lot to me. He and LJ are the only people I have left."

His coarse fingers retreated from view as his hands balled up in fists. "It's just . . . I know what they're capable of—the company, law enforcement—sometimes it feels like they're one and the same . . . I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"Lincoln, I get it. Sara, Sofia . . ."

His deep blue eyes were like a stormy sea, and he exhaled with a grunt. "You don't even know about Veronica."

Hearing the emotion in his voice, she nudged closer. "Who's Veronica?"

He seized the railing with a death-grip, the muscles in his forearms rippling. "She was . . ." How on earth could he explain? Childhood sweetheart? Love of his life? His attorney? The woman who cared more about him than anyone else? "She was . . . everything to me." He swallowed hard as his face darkened. "I was on the phone with her when they executed her. They shot her point blank."

Karina gasped. Not knowing what else to do, she gathered Lincoln in her arms. She leaned into his solid body and rested her chin on his chest as she stroked his back. "I'm so sorry," she murmured. "You've lost so much."

The heat from their argument lingered, sparked hotter by the comfort she gave him when he needed it most. After a long minute, he pulled back to stare into her beautiful hazel eyes. She gazed up at him with warmth. He'd lost so much, but he'd found her. He _needed_ her. Drawn to her, his lips pulsed into hers.

She jumped a bit, shocked by the kiss, but then eased into him, feeling the rough stubble of his face against hers as they held the lip-lock for a few glorious moments. His full lips were surprisingly soft, and his caresses electrified her skin with a pleasant tingle.

When he let her go, his rustic scent still flooded her. The intensity in his eyes held her captive. His voice was deep yet soft. "I hope to God Ben didn't see that."

"Who?" Karina replied, making them both grin.

~~ o*o ~~

Magnified through his binoculars, the balcony kiss played out for the man like a juicy soap opera rendezvous. Evidently, the third time _was_ a charm.

When he spoke to himself, he barely moved his charred lips. "Dr. Daniels, you led me right to them, didn't you? I think I'll require your services, too. And the company you keep—I'll need something from them as well." His smile sent shooting pains across his face.

~~ o*o ~~

"I've got some news," Blue Phillips said once the guard left.

Michael braced himself.

"The gunman who came after Sara in Costa Rica—he was the same man who killed Sofia Lugo in Panama."

A chill went up Michael's spine. _Sara._ She could have easily been killed, just like Sofia.

"And the reason that we know that is . . ." Blue paused. "Because Costa Rican police arrested the killer in the beach house . . . along with Sara Tancredi and Fernando Sucre."

Michael sucked in a gulp of air. "Sara was arrested? Is she all right? Where is she? In Costa Rica?"

Blue held up a hand. "She's on her way here. The FBI has extradited her to the states."

His stomach twisted.

"This is good news, Michael. Sara will have her chance in court now."

"This is _not_ good news—she's in danger! The company won't stop till they kill her. They won't stop till they kill us all."

"I'll do everything I can to protect her."

"You don't understand." Michael strained against the chains. "You can't stop them! I'm the only one who can protect her . . ." He froze. "What about the baby? She's supposed to be on bed rest."

"Don't worry—LJ said Agent Lang's following doctor's orders."

" _LJ?_ How in the world is he involved?" The chains clanked once again.

"He went down there to identify the company assassin."

"The FBI has him, too? What about Linc?"

"Lincoln's fine, and LJ will be, too. Costa Rican police already released Fernando Sucre."

Michael's mind whirred. "When's Sara supposed to get to Miami?"

"Any minute now."

"Where're they taking her?"

Blue grimaced. "They won't tell me. But since I'm her counsel, they'll have to tell me soon."

"Blue, you have to get me out of here." Michael looked up at him. "I have to get to Sara—the FBI can't protect her."

"Such little faith in us, Scofield," Todd scolded as he entered the hospital room with a smug grin.

Michael glared at him, and Blue's look wasn't kind, either.

Sidling up to the bed, Todd shook his head. "Damn, sounds like you already know about Sara being apprehended. I so wanted to tell you that myself." He shrugged. "Too bad."

"Where're they taking her?" Michael asked.

Todd's eyes bugged. "Do you honestly think I'd tell you that?" He glanced at the empty IV stand. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were still doped up on pain meds."

"You've got to keep her hidden from the company! They want her dead."

"Oh relax, Scofield. Plenty of people want _you_ dead, but you're still breathing. You've done quite okay under our protection."

Michael's jaw clenched. "If something happens to Sara . . ."

"You'll do what?" Todd retorted. "What're you going to do to me, Scofield? Beat me in a game of chess?" When his phone rang, he held up one finger. "Hold that thought. Or, should I say, hold that threat."

"Wheatley," he crisply answered, then nodded. "I've been waiting to hear from you. How'd it go? . . . Good, good . . ." His voice sharpened. "What the hell were you thinking, Felicia? . . . Just hold on, I'll be right there."

"Damn it!" Todd frowned at Michael. "We'll finish this convo later, boys." He left.

Michael slumped back in the bed and closed his eyes. "Sara's not safe. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Danger lurks around every corner in Prisneyland. :-o


	30. Downey

Author's Note: This chapter's devoted to xoElle23 for shipping Lincrina! Love ya, chica.

30\. Downey

Warm gusts of ocean air buffeted the balcony. Cradling Karina's head, Lincoln felt the breezes lift tendrils of Karina's hair across his hands. Her hazel eyes, glittering in the late-afternoon sun, gazed directly into his with what seemed like a look of trust. Why she'd trust him, he'd never know.

When he heard the apartment front door slam, he let her go. He went inside the second he caught a glimpse of his son through the sliding glass doors.

He bounded toward LJ with the urge to wrap him in a hug. But when he saw the man behind him, he froze.

Alex Mahone also hesitated. Then, he stepped next to LJ. "Lincoln."

Suspicion edged Lincoln's voice. "What're you doing here?"

"Agent Lang told him to drive me," said LJ.

"Why didn't she call Blue for the transfer?" Lincoln's eyes narrowed.

Alex said, "Because she had to take care of Sara."

Lincoln's shoulders drooped. "How is Sara?" He reached for LJ and gave him a smothering hug.

"She's good, Dad," LJ said, once he could breathe again. He felt himself being corralled behind his father, away from Alex, and noticed Dr. Karina standing inside the balcony door. His father's shielding maneuver made LJ roll his eyes at her, and Karina grinned back at him.

"Thanks for returning my son." Lincoln's jaw ticked. "But you can go now."

Alex pressed his lips together. It appeared the détente between them had faded since Cameron's death. He wondered who the blonde was but doubted Lincoln would tell him. "LJ did good, you know, down there. Felicia told me he identified Sofia's killer."

Lincoln looked over his shoulder and drew LJ around next to him, draping his muscular arm over him. He squeezed the boy's bony shoulder. "At least one of us gets justice, then. I hope that assassin gets the chair."

"Well, Florida does have the death penalty . . . just like Illinois." At once, Alex regretted the comment. Two sets of blue eyes flared at him. One was tall and one was short, but they were definitely father and son. He cleared his throat. "I'll be going. I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help."

Lincoln's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

Alex shrugged. "What if there's another company attack? Are you prepared?"

With three strides to the end of the sofa, Lincoln squatted and rummaged around a duffel bag. He rose and pointed a handgun right at Alex.

Not fazed at all, Alex smirked. "Guess so."

Karina inhaled sharply.

"What?" Lincoln lowered the gun and turned to her.

"Have you had that gun in my apartment the entire time?"

"Of course."

LJ's "duh" expression mirrored his father's.

There was another gasp when Ben emerged from the bedroom. His eyes bulged as they looked at the gun.

Lincoln tightened his hold on the grip, then replaced the weapon in the bag.

"Are you going to introduce me to your hosts?" Alex asked, breaking the silence.

 _His father's murderer getting chummy with the Daniels family? Hell, no_. "No." Lincoln aimed a stern look at Ben. "Get back in your room."

Before Ben could protest, Lincoln snapped, "You too, LJ. Go with him. Play some computer game, or, or, or, look at porn or something. Just give us some privacy while I show Alex out."

LJ wavered for a moment before obeying and closing the door behind them.

Alex studied him. "I'm on your side, Linc."

"I know that." Lincoln sighed. "Just don't want to bring Karina's son into this." He glanced behind him. "Karina, this is Alex Mahone, former FBI agent."

As she shook his hand, Lincoln added, "Karina, uh, Dr. Daniels, is Michael's doctor."

Alex's eyes lit up. "Really? How's he doing?"

Alex didn't miss her sly glance at Lincoln nor his slight nod of approval for her to answer. "He's healing well." She bit her lip. "Actually, I need to return to the hospital to check on him."

Lincoln nodded. "I'll walk you out."

While Karina gathered her doctor's coat and purse, Alex backpedaled toward the door. "I should leave, too."

"Actually, I _would_ like to talk strategy, especially about Kellerman." Lincoln shuddered at Douchebag's name. "Why don't you stay?"

Alex hesitated, and Karina pointed to the sofa. "Please have a seat, Alex. You seem much nicer than Agent Wheatley."

Alex offered a rueful smile. If only Lincoln knew he'd once traded secrets with Wheatley . . .

Lincoln ushered Karina out the door and Alex could hear their murmurs from the hallway.

"Be careful," Lincoln said.

She nodded. "What Alex said back there . . . the company won't attack us here, will they?"

Lincoln shook his head. "They don't know where we are. Besides, the feds are finally onto the company—hopefully there aren't many of those roaches left."

"Even so, I don't like the idea of you having a gun in my house."

"And I don't like the idea of not being able to protect you or the boys. The chance of a company agent coming after us is slim, but it's still there."

She frowned. "Well, let's talk about it more when I get home."

Lincoln licked his lip, thinking there'd be no way he'd relinquish his weapon, but he gave her a placating smile. "I'll have dinner on the table when you get home, honey."

"You _better."_ They grinned at each other, then her expression sobered. "You won't actually let them watch porn, will you?"

"Kar, it was a joke."

One sculpted eyebrow arched. "Do _they_ know that? We're talking teenage boys here. Hormonal teenage boys."

Thick eyebrows knitted together. "Maybe I should check on them . . ."

"You better." She laughed.

There was an awkward pause before she hit the down elevator button. A light blush swept across her cheeks, making her irresistible. He leaned in and grazed her soft cheek with his lips.

Sparks of heat flushed her face. His kiss was an amazingly tender gesture from a man so strong and gruff.

"Hurry home," he rasped.

"I will!" she chirped before flitting into the elevator, buoyed by his kiss. He smiled as she gave him a little wave before the elevator doors closed.

Entering the apartment, Lincoln's thoughts turned to the two voracious boys inside. He hoped Alex knew how to cook.

~~ o*o ~~

Ted Downey set aside his binoculars the moment he saw Dr. Daniels's car emerge from the high-rise's parking garage. As if her strong figure and flowing blond hair weren't enough to identify her, the white doctor's coat was a dead giveaway. He guided his vehicle behind hers and followed from a distance of fifty yards.

He'd tailed people all the time for Christina, and had no problem maintaining contact all the way to the Coral Gables Hospital.

~~ o*o ~~

Todd Wheatley hustled down three flights of stairs to the Fetal Medicine ward. When the guard tried to stop him from entering the hospital room, Todd shoved his ID in his face.

He entered in a huff to find Felicia Lang standing next to a slender woman handcuffed to the bed. Though her facial bruising had long since faded, replaced by a tanned glow, she still appeared tired. And scared. Unlike Scofield's carefully constructed mask, she couldn't hide her fear.

"Sara Tancredi," Todd crowed, "back in the states at last. Or should I call you Sara Scofield?"

"Given that you arrested me at my wedding reception, I haven't had the chance to change my name, legally."

"Why do _anything_ legally?" he countered. "It's just not your style."

Sara blinked back at him.

He couldn't believe she was here. The incompetence of law enforcement astounded him. "May I have a word with you outside, Agent Lang?"

It had sounded more like an order than a question, and she followed him to the hallway.

Achieving enough distance from Sara's room so the police officer couldn't eavesdrop, Todd hissed, "Why the Christ you bring Tancredi anywhere _near_ Scofield?"

"Saint Lucia was full, and this is the only other hospital with adequate security."

"Why is she in a hospital at all?"

Felicia gave him a measured stare. "Sara almost miscarried. She's been ordered on bed rest for at least a week."

"Bullshit. I bet Scofield told her to say that."

"We're waiting for a doctor to examine her, but until we hear differently, the director ordered me to bring her here."

That shut Todd up. He knew he was persona non-grata with his boss for the way he'd handled Scofield's hospitalization. The Miami FBI office was holding its breath, hoping Blue Phillips wouldn't file a misconduct lawsuit.

"She should be locked away," Todd muttered. "Does anyone except for the director and the guard know she's here?"

"No."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. It'd be Scofield's wet dream to know his wife's only just below him, even if he is chained up."

"You'll have to notify Sara's attorney of her whereabouts soon," she reminded him.

"Let's see if we can delay that until we get Scofield transferred to super-max."

"And when will that be?" Felicia attempted to keep her tone casual.

He shrugged. "The doc's being cagey. She's supposed to be back soon—maybe I can pin her down on a discharge date." He cocked his head toward Sara's room. "She tell you anything about the escape?"

"I haven't had the chance to interrogate her because she's been sleeping. Looked like she went through hell defending herself from the man who came after them. Apparently she poured a pot of boiling water over his head."

"Yikes!" He had to admit he admired her spunk. "So she's been hiding out in Costa Rica?"

She nodded.

He rubbed his chin. "I wonder why Scofield chose that location."

"Probably to get away from the company. But that didn't work."

"So this assassin's a company agent?"

She eyed him. "Thought you doubted the company's existence?"

"Moi?" He feigned umbrage. "That would be short-sighted of me to claim the company didn't exist, especially after you told me so much about them." He winked at her. "Doesn't change the fact Scofield and Tancredi are guilty as hell, though."

"But it looks like Sara was acting on self-defense."

Todd held up one hand. "I'll let the courts figure that one out. My job's to ensure she _makes_ it to the inside of a courtroom. There's no way I'll allow her to escape again." He glared at Felicia. "And you sure aren't making that easy for me, bringing her to the same damn location as her rabbit husband."

"Just following orders."

"Well, I don't like it. If Scofield finds out his wife's nearby, he'll somehow parachute them both out of here when we're not looking. The faster we get him outta here, the better." He glanced at his watch. "Maybe I'll see if his stupid doctor is back. In the meantime, you keep an eagle eye on Tancredi, right?"

"That's my plan."

~~ o*o ~~

"Here you go, Mr. Smith." The nurse tilted him forward to plump the pillow behind his head. Downey drew in a sharp breath at her touch.

"Oh, sorry," the nurse said. "I was trying to avoid the burns on your chest, but I guess any movement's jarring at this point." She rested him back on the pillow. "You really should've come in sooner, sir. It will make the skin grafts harder to take now."

"I was blinded by pain," he said.

"Didn't you have anyone to care for you?"

He stayed quiet, not wanting to reveal that his boss had been murdered by Sara Tancredi. _Bitch._

"We'll take good care of you in the Burn Unit." She smiled and seemed to avoid looking at his scarred face. "I'll be right back to start you on pain medication."

"Nurse?" She paused. "Why's a police officer posted down the hall?"

He noticed her stiffen. "Oh, that's just protocol, Mr. Smith. Nothing for you to worry about."

She turned to leave again but he asked, "Where's my bag?"

"Right over on the chair. Would you like me to get it for you?"

"No."

"Okay then, I'll be right back."

Downey waited for her to exit before he crawled out of bed, stifling his moans. The last thing he needed was pain medication to dull his senses. He wanted to be fully aware of Scofield's shock, right before he took that bastard's life.

~~ o*o ~~

Michael stared up at Karina and kept his voice low. "No word on where they took Sara?"

She shook her head as she loosened the bandages on his hands, pleased the procedure no longer made him seize up with pain. "Alex didn't know either."

He sighed and blinked a few times. "I'm glad Alex is here. He can help Linc."

"I hope so." Blushing, she remembered their balcony kiss. "Your attorney was visiting earlier, right? What did he say?"

"Blue thinks he can get Sara's charges dropped."

"That's great, right?"

"No. Even if she gets acquitted on the murder rap, that'll take a while. And the entire time she'll be vulnerable to company attacks, since Todd doesn't believe in the company."

Karina scoffed, "What else does he _need?"_

~~ o*o ~~

With his robe concealing his weapon, Downey roamed the hallway of the Burn Unit. As he approached the police officer standing guard outside of one of the rooms, he scanned the area in a search for weaknesses to exploit.

Officer Larry Lutz couldn't hide his disgust for the patient's scarred face.

"Doc told me to walk a bit," Downey explained, his lungs straining for air against the compressed skin of his burned chest. He stooped over.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Larry asked.

"It clears my lungs," he lied. He noticed a vending machine room just past the officer's post, and as he shuffled by it, he tumbled down on his side, landing halfway in the room. He made sure his groan was extra loud.

"You okay?" Larry rushed to his aid.

Though Downey had avoided falling onto his chest, the collapse still made him see stars. It took a moment to orient himself as the officer squatted next to him.

In a flash, Downey pressed the silencer into the officer's forehead. The bullet sheared into him, and the officer slumped on the floor.

Neat and tidy, the way Christina would have liked it. Her expensive designer white pantsuit wouldn't have shown even one splatter of blood.

As Downey dragged himself off of the floor, he heard beeping monitors and the faint voices of nurses—no shouts or rushing footsteps. It was almost too easy.

After checking the hallway, he shuffled toward Michael's hospital room.

~~ o*o ~~

Karina finished wrapping Michael's hands. "You're doing well, Michael."

He met her gaze, and they shared an anxious look. He was getting closer to discharge.

"I'm looking for Dr. Daniels," said a raspy male voice.

Michael looked to the doorway to find a burn patient dressed in a hospital gown and a robe.

The police officer rose from his seat in the corner.

"I'm Dr. Daniels." Karina stepped forward.

The officer frowned at the stranger. "How'd you get past Larry? You're not supposed to be in here."

Downey answered him by pulling out his gun and shooting him in the chest, twice.

Karina and Michael both gasped as the officer crumpled to the floor. He hadn't even had time to pull his weapon.

"Run!" Michael hissed at Karina, rattling his chains to try to distract the gunman.

Her eyes were huge as she took a faltering step toward the door. But a bullet ripped into her chest, leveling her flat as well.

Michael flinched. "Karina!" He couldn't believe how quiet the shots had been, fired through the silencer. There'd be nobody to hear the shots—nobody to rescue him. Swallowing hard, he faced his killer, with only one word on silent repeat: _Sara._

Downey loomed toward the handcuffed patient. His breaths were labored, but he managed to get out, "Do you know who I am?"

Michael's eyes rolled up from the muzzle of the gun to the man's disfigured face, red and blotchy from burns. It looked like he'd survived a fiery explosion. "You're Christina's man."

He chuckled. "She was right. You _are_ as smart as her."

When Karina moaned, Downey glared at her.

"Why do you want to kill me?" Michael tried to redirect his attention.

"Good question, Genius Boy. Why _would_ I want to kill you?"

Michael paused. "Because I made the bomb that gave you the burns."

"So intelligent," Downey marveled. "Too bad we can't keep you around—that brain of yours could've done some good in the world." He sucked in a strained breath. "And you can bet I'll track down your wife after this. She'll pay for murdering Christina."

Michael's heart shuddered. "The police got it all wrong. _I'm_ the one who shot my mother. Kill me."

"As you wish." Downey raised the weapon, aiming it straight at his head.

Michael's stare was unflinching, and he felt more fury than fear. What an unfair ending to six months of battle. Having brought him into this world, his mother would follow through on her promise to take him out of it.

Honing in on the cold, black muzzle, Michael recoiled when a deafening shot blasted.

But he wasn't hit. He looked up to see Todd Wheatley aiming his weapon at Downey, who'd plunged to the floor. The muzzle of Todd's weapon seemed to emit a few puffs of smoke from the blast.

Michael's jaw dropped as he met Todd's gaze.

Downey was down.


	31. Wherever You Will Go

31\. Wherever You Will Go

 _And maybe, I'll find out  
The way to make it back someday  
To watch you, to guide you  
Through the darkest of your days_

~The Calling _, Wherever You Will Go_

All was quiet as Michael stared at Todd, the recent blast of Todd's gun still ringing in his ears. It took a moment to realize Todd had just saved his life.

A nurse ran into the room and stopped short at the sight of bodies littering the floor.

The sound of her gasp snapped Todd out of his daze. "Get some help! We got three down—one of them's a doc."

"Dr. Daniels!" The nurse shrieked when she saw the white coat on one of the victims. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God."

Todd seized her by the biceps. "Get some of your friends in here, _now."_

She flew out of the room.

Michael noticed that the agent seemed preternaturally calm. But he didn't feel so tranquil. "Sara. She's in a safe place, right?"

Todd jumped. "There's only one assassin?"

Michael's eyes widened. "I don't know! Where's Sara? Could they find her? Did they try to get her first?"

Todd didn't answer. He stepped toward the shooter with his gun still drawn. He fitted the toe of his boot under the man's ribcage and lifted a few inches, but he didn't budge. The shooter was either unconscious or dead.

After scanning the room, he holstered his weapon and leaned down to check on Karina.

"Get me out of these chains," Michael urged. "I'll take care of Karina and you make sure Sara's safe."

A nurse and doctor charged in the room.

"We got this," the physician said as he knelt to work on Karina. "Check on the guard. Do you know CPR?"

"Yes." Todd checked the police officer's vital signs, but another medical team arrived to displace him.

It had all taken less than a minute.

In a flash Todd stood next to Michael's bed, holding a set of keys from the guard's belt.

"You've got to get to Sara!" Michael yelled. "The company's after her, too."

"I know. I heard the shooter threaten her as I came in the room." Todd's eyes swept down the chains. "Can you walk?"

Michael squinted. "Yes?"

"Good." Todd unlocked the cuffs.

"What're you doing?"

"We're going to make sure Sara's okay."

Michael sucked in a sharp breath. "She's _here?_ In this hospital?" He kicked at the chains to remove them faster.

The y-cuff was trickier and it took intense concentration for Todd to remove it. Over the cacophony of medical staff assessing and treating the gunshot victims, Michael asked, "Aren't you worried I'll try to escape?"

Todd paused. "If you wanted to escape, Scofield, you and I both know you would've left a long time ago."

It seemed he was finally clueing in to the true character of Michael Scofield.

"Besides," Todd added, "I won't leave you here unguarded when I run to Sara's room. And I know you won't do anything stupid as long as her life's in danger."

Michael felt the weight of the chains fall to the side as he watched nurses transfer Karina to a gurney. One nurse placed pressure on her chest wound while the other jogged the gurney toward surgery. Though Karina's eyes were closed, her constant moans told him she was still alive. When he confirmed Sara was still breathing, genuine relief could set in.

"Sit up," Todd ordered, and he aimed a stern look at Michael. "You stay on my six, right?"

Michael nodded. "Let's go."

~~ o*o ~~

"Get her!" Lincoln cheered as he leaned over Ben's shoulder. Ben's _World of Warcraft_ character engaged in battle with a female mage while Lincoln and LJ watched the clashing axes and swords.

"Oomph!" LJ cried as Ben's character absorbed a glancing blow to the abdomen.

Ben narrowed his eyes. "Crap. Take that, ho-bag!" His fingers flew over the keyboard, engineering his character's assault.

It took two full rings of the apartment phone before any of the three heard it. "Can one of you get that?" Ben asked, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"You get it, LJ," Lincoln ordered.

"I want to see this!" LJ whined.

Ben bit his lip and tried to focus. The wily mage circled him, searching for his weaknesses. "Somebody's gotta get it! Mom will be mad if I don't answer."

Finally LJ jogged to the phone. "Daniels residence." As he listened, he paled.

"Yeah!" Lincoln shouted, punching his fist in the air after Ben's character knocked off the mage's helmet. When he saw his son hang up the phone, his grin vanished. "Who _was_ that?"

Ben turned around and saw how big LJ's eyes had gotten. "Dude, what's wrong?"

LJ swallowed and stared at Ben. "Your mom's been shot."

Lincoln flinched.

~~ o*o ~~

Todd chattered non-stop on his phone as they hustled down three flights of stairs in the high-rise hospital. From what Michael could overhear, it sounded like Coral Gables Hospital was about to swarm with FBI agents. Todd hadn't taken kindly to an assault on _his_ prisoners.

Absorbed in his phone call, Todd didn't even think to verify the prisoner was still following him.

Though the freedom felt glorious after almost three weeks of being chained to the bed, Michael didn't even think about slinking away. He had a single-minded purpose: Sara.

When they burst onto the Fetal Medicine unit, several medical staff paused their duties to stare. First a handsome man barking into his phone jetted past, followed by the even handsomer man in a t-shirt and jeans, with bandaged hands.

As Michael zoomed by, one woman asked her coworker "Is that . . .?"

Michael was past her before he heard the answer, but his eyes darted around the hallway. It'd be bad to be recognized here with the company after them. Would his presence bring more danger to the people he cared for?

 _Karina._ Thinking her name made Michael stiffen with fear. She _had_ to be okay. He'd brought her into this mess, and she'd been shot as a result. Yet another innocent had been harmed because of his decision to save his brother.

Todd pocketed his phone and jogged up to the guard outside Sara's room. "Everything copacetic?"

The police officer frowned. "Yeah." When he noticed Michael come up behind Todd, he bristled. "What the hell?"

Todd clutched Michael's arm. "He's with me. Step aside, Officer. And be on guard—there's already been one attack upstairs."

The officer let both men into the hospital room.

When Sara looked up from the fetal monitor to see Todd Wheatley, she scowled. Her expression froze when she spotted the man behind him.

"Michael!" Her own heart monitor beeped on overdrive.

He felt like his heart was about to arrest as well.

Michael rushed to her. Her right wrist was handcuffed to the bed and her slender arms looked even paler and thinner than the last time he'd seen her. "Are you all right?"

She gave him a dazzling smile in response.

He longed to touch her. Ignoring his bandaged hands, he reached out to stroke her hair. Once he smelled her jasmine scent, a force pulled him to her and his lips connected with hers in a soft kiss.

It was real.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, they glistened with tears. "What's happening?"

Quiet up to this point, Todd stepped closer. "A company agent tried to kill Scofield."

Sara's mouth dropped open.

Michael said, "Karina got shot."

"No! Poor Karina."

Todd squinted at her. "You know Dr. Daniels?"

Sara tried to recover. "Who?"

The agent stared at her for several seconds before his mouth set to a grim line. He whipped out a pair of handcuffs. "Okay, Scofield, mission completed—we can see your wife is safe. Hands behind your back."

Michael set his shoulders and was about to submit when he looked down at the railing of the hospital bed. His eyes lifted to meet the agent's glare, and he knocked his left wrist on the bed's railing. "It's a better idea to cuff me to a secure object."

Todd frowned. "It's not safe here. We'll be moving you soon."

"And Sara too," Michael demanded.

"Of course."

"Then move us together."

Michael capitalized on Todd's hesitation.

"You told me the FBI's good at protecting people, and you just proved it." Michael looked at Sara. "He saved my life by shooting the assassin."

Sara met the agent's eyes. "Thank you."

Michael continued, "We'll be easier to protect if we're in the same place." He lifted the back of his wrist and thumped it on the railing as he nodded at the handcuffs. "Just until the other agents arrive."

Pressing his lips together, Todd assessed the situation.

"Just until you take me away for good," Michael pleaded.

Todd vacillated for a few moments before muttering, "Fine." He clasped Michael's wrist to the railing. "At least Dr. Daniels isn't here to chew me out for cuffing your burned wrists." Once the words left his mouth, he backed away. "I'll go check on her."

Once he left, Sara looked at Michael's cuffed wrist. "There you go, copying me again."

"I thought _you_ were the one copying _me."_

Her eyes tightened. "Where was Karina shot?"

"In the chest." He winced.

She looked away. "I guess you're blaming yourself?"

"Who else should I blame? The shooter was my mother's henchman."

She turned back to him. "Oh, Michael."

"He took down a police officer, too. His face was all burned from the bomb _I_ made. It was awful. He said he was coming after you next, to revenge Christina's death."

"I suppose I should be even more grateful for Agent Wheatley, then." She smirked. "I never thought I'd say that _._ What's gotten into Todd? He seemed halfway human tonight."

Michael shrugged. "He was just doing his job—this whole time he thought _we_ were the criminals. But now he can't deny the company's really out there. And I think he believes it's his job to protect us now."

Thinking about protecting those in danger, he looked at the small bump below her waist. He stroked her belly. "How's the peanut?"

 _He remembered my nickname_. "The peanut's a little distressed, actually. Bed rest should help."

He gave her a charming grin. "Bed rest _is_ helpful."

Before she knew it, he crawled onto the bed, creeping over her, stretching his left arm over her body as he rolled her on her right side and snuggled in behind her.

"Don't disturb the monitors!" She giggled as their handcuffs jangled while shifting and settling their weight, finally coming to rest with her back curving against his chest. Their bodies fit together like stacked spoons in a drawer.

Once her giggling stopped, amusement still lilted her voice. "So _that's_ why you wanted to be handcuffed to the bed."

"Well, you know, I feel the need to copy everything you do."

"What'll Todd say about this?"

"Who cares?" He nuzzled his nose into the nape of her neck and planted sweet kisses beneath her tousled auburn hair.

She let out a long, contented sigh.

He'd found a way to make it back to her some way. One day was now today.

"I missed you so much," he whispered.

The cuffs provided enough slack from the low railing that Sara could gently curl the fingers of her right hand over his bandaged left hand. "Does it hurt?"

"Not as much anymore."

Her throat tightened. "You can't go to prison. You can't leave us."

"Shh. It'll be okay."

His warbling voice belied the reassurance of his words.

Biting her lip, she looked at the fetal heart monitor screen. "The numbers are better," she marveled. "The baby's heart-rate has come down to a normal range."

"Really?" He snaked his right hand under her to rest it on her belly. "You'll be okay, peanut," he crooned as he patted her bump. "Your mom and dad love you very much."

"Oh, _Christ."_ Todd rolled his eyes entering the room.

"How's Karina?" Michael asked.

"Still in surgery. Get _out_ of there, Scofield."

"No can do, boss. The baby's less distressed with me in the bed."

"Oh so now there's a medical reason you're jumping her bones?"

"My wife needs to be on bed rest." A thrill coursed through him to call her his _wife_. "To protect our baby." The thrill multiplied. "And where my wife goes, I go."

Todd scoffed, "Well, I don't think she'll be going with you to super-max."

Michael and Sara both tensed. The fetal heart monitor beat with a sad cadence.

 _When I'm gone, you'll need love  
To light the shadows on your face  
If I could, then I would  
I'd go wherever you will go_

~The Calling _, Wherever You Will Go_

 _Author's Note:_ Have you seen the trailer for the new Prison Break season? SO DAMN EXCITING! If you've seen it, check out the prison guard who opens the gate for Lincoln around 48 seconds into the trailer. I think it's Wentworth Miller. Do you? I asked Paul Scheuring about it on Twitter but he wouldn't confirm or deny.

Thank you for reading! Finally MiSa is reunited.


	32. Only Love

32\. Only Love

 _Only love, only love can leave such a mark_

 _Only love, only love can heal such a scar_

~U2, _Magnificent_

Ready to defend the couple in the bed, Todd reached for his weapon when he heard someone outside the hospital room.

Felicia Lang jumped when she entered. Todd was _allowing_ Sara and Michael to be together? She smirked. "I didn't realize hospital beds were big enough for two."

"Three, actually," Sara said. When she and Felicia shared a little grin, she felt Michael relax behind her.

"Do you know her?" he whispered into Sara's ear.

"I'm Agent Felicia Lang, Mr. Scofield. From the Chicago Division."

Michael nodded but kept his eyes trained on her.

"I've been tracking you and your brother for quite some time," Felicia added.

"She's the one who arrested me on the Chicago docks," Sara told him. "She was working with Alex."

"Great, it's a sweet little reunion, then." Todd looked at Felicia. "Is the team ready?"

"Almost." She dipped her chin toward the bed. "Guess the prisoners are secured for transport?"

"Where're you taking us?" Michael pressed.

Todd ignored him. "Yes, they're ready." He cleared his throat. "I thought the transport would be smoother this way, with the prisoners in the same, uh, the same location."

Sara suppressed a laugh hearing Todd pretend he'd planned this. "And the baby's no longer in distress now that Michael's with me."

"I'll need to hear that from a more objective doctor before I believe _that_ one," Todd said.

"Agent Wheatley, may I speak to you outside?" Felicia gestured to the door. "We have some details to cover."

"Of course. The guard's still posted out there, right?"

"Yes."

Once the agents left, Michael clasped his wife tighter, making sure she was real.

"Mmmm." She melted back into him.

Something felt different but he couldn't place it. He should've been distracted by the visual stimuli surrounding him—the inner workings of the fetal heart monitor, each thread of Sara's cotton hospital gown, or cooking up an intricate plan to exonerate her. But all he could focus on was the feel of her warm body pressed up against his. He was aware only of his asphyxiating love for her.

"I should be thinking about Todd and Felicia," he confessed. "I should be strategizing how Alex or Paul can help us. I should be worrying about Linc and LJ, and Karina too . . . but I can only think of one thing."

"And what's that?"

She could hear the smile in his voice. "The fact that we're in a bed together, with _handcuffs._ "

She grinned. "That we are. What do you plan to do about that, Mr. Scofield?"

His trail of kisses down her neck elicited an explosion of goosebumps.

~~ o*o ~~

Lincoln could feel Ben trembling next to him in the backseat of the taxi. Without thinking, he wrapped his arm around the boy. "Your mom's gonna be fine."

The words did nothing to soothe Ben's rising panic. He couldn't remember his father dying—he'd been too young—and now he had no idea how to go on if his mother died, too.

Ben sat in the middle of the Burrows men. On Ben's left side, LJ leaned forward and scowled at Lincoln. "You shouldn't promise that. She might die."

Ben's face seemed to lose more of its Florida tan.

"Quiet, LJ," Lincoln barked. His right fist clenched in his lap. "Karina will be fine." _She has to be okay. She has to be okay._

"She was shot in the chest!" LJ said. "That's where her heart is."

Ben was close to hyperventilating, and Lincoln wasn't far behind him. "Can't you go any faster?" he yelled at the driver.

"Three minutes," the cabbie replied.

LJ wouldn't drop it. "Maybe she got shot in her heart."

Ben's hand darted to his chest as he panted.

Lincoln clenched his fist. "LJ, would you shut the fuck up?"

LJ turned to face the window.

After a minute of silence, Lincoln reached across Ben to touch LJ's shoulder. "Hey."

He kept staring out the window at palm trees and traffic.

"LJ. Look at me."

When his son turned to him, the gleam of tears in his crystal-blue eyes strangled Lincoln. He let out a breath when he put the pieces together. "Lisa." He shook his head. "She was shot in the chest."

LJ shuddered and turned to the window again.

"Coral Gables." The cabbie pulled up to the hospital's entrance.

Lincoln threw some money at the driver and the three got out.

LJ swiped at his cheeks.

Rounding the vehicle, Lincoln planted himself between the two boys and corralled them by draping his muscular arms across their shoulders. "Let's go," he ordered.

They marched inside.

~~ o*o ~~

Alex stared out the peephole of his hotel room door, wishing he had a different visitor. In his mind, the man still represented the face of the company—the face of manipulation, blackmail, and betrayal. The face of death. He remembered sitting in the front seat of the man's car.

" _You've been hired to do a job. The reasoning doesn't concern you."_

 _Alex swallowed. The reasoning might not concern him, but the outcome of that reasoning certainly did. Remembering David Apolkis's look of terror right before he was shot to death, Alex patted his breast pocket, feeling the safety of his pill-filled fountain pen inside._

 _The man continued, "You don't ask questions about us and we make sure no one asks about you. Are we clear?"_

" _Yeah."_

" _You remember the directive we gave you about the escapees."_

 _Alex paused, and looked out the car window. His tone was grave. "They all die."_

He shuddered and forced himself to unlock the door.

"Alex." The visitor bestowed a smug smile.

"Come in, Paul."

Paul Kellerman wore an expensive business suit, and Alex felt underdressed in his wrinkled long sleeve shirt and jeans.

"I appreciate you returning my call." Paul went to sit at a small table, the only furniture in the room besides the queen-size bed and low dresser. "I can't get hold of Burrows."

Alex nodded. "He's probably trying to find out if his brother's still alive."

Paul's eyebrows arched. "What?"

"Somebody tried to assassinate Michael in his hospital room about an hour ago. Wheatley killed the guy before he could pull the trigger."

Paul leaned forward. "Who was the shooter?"

Alex shrugged. "Probably some company man—you'd know better than I would."

"I'm not with those bastards anymore. You know that." He paused for a moment. "How'd you find out about the assassination attempt? I've heard nothing about it."

"I have a contact in the Bureau. She assured me Michael's safe for now."

"Thank goodness." Paul sounded less than genuine in his relief. He frowned. "The hospital's probably crawling with agents by now."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Paul chuckled. "You think you're still working for them, don't you? Give it up, Alex. You're no longer an agent."

When Alex felt a flash of anger, he craved a pill. Without the Valtril, his feelings were more intense and out of control. He longed for the calm seas the drug had provided.

 _Sara gave him a look that was simultaneously knowing and full of pity. "You must feel like you're walking underwater."_

" _I do. It's very quiet down here."_

"You said you needed to talk to me, Kellerman." He threaded his fingers together to quell their trembling. "So talk."

Paul studied him a few moments, gauging how much he could trust him. "It's Scylla. We need Michael to fix it."

"Lincoln told me already. You want him to break Michael out of the hospital so he can get Scylla up and running again."

"Well, aren't _you_ connected, Mr. Mahone?" Paul narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure Lincoln put his own spin on things, making it sound worse than it is. This can work, Alex—the UN can get Michael pardoned. We just need to borrow him for a few minutes. You need to convince Michael to escape."

Alex shot him an incredulous look. "You think I have more sway with Michael than his own _brother?"_

"No, but you're a lot smarter than his brother, the obstinate fool."

A cramped warehouse storeroom filled his mind.

 _Lincoln glanced at the photo of Cameron that Alex clutched. Tension blanketed the space between them. "You remember what I said to you, the first day we got here?"_

 _Alex nodded. "You said when this was over, we were going to settle up."_

 _Gesturing to the photograph, Lincoln said, "We're settled."_

 _He did his best not to cry._

Alex squared his shoulders. "If Lincoln doesn't think the hospital escape will work, then it won't. I won't try to convince Michael." He held his breath, wondering how Paul would react to his refusal. They stared at each other, one agent to another—one murderer to another.

"That's disappointing, Alex." He sighed. "We probably couldn't get Boy Wonder out of that hospital, anyway. Not unless he designed an exit strategy."

"It's a moot point. My contact said they're about to move Michael and Sara from the hospital since that location's been compromised."

Paul's smug grin returned. "Tell me more."

~~ o*o ~~

The obstetrician jotted a few notes in the chart and then smiled at Sara and Michael. "The baby's doing much better."

Sara glanced over her shoulder to make sure Todd had heard her.

He scowled. "And why is that, Dr. Anderson?"

"Could be a variety of reasons. I understand the patient hasn't been fully compliant with bed rest, but cuffing her to the bed has certainly remedied that problem." She winked at Sara. "The biggest difference, though, has to be the presence of the baby's father—that's the real miracle worker here."

Todd scowled. "I bet you paid her to say that, Scofield."

"With what money?"

"It's an interesting treatment approach," Dr. Anderson said. "Next time I've got a distressed fetus, I'll consider having the father crawl into bed with the mother." She exchanged a grin with Sara.

Todd's expression turned stormy, and he glared at the doctor. "So as long as we keep her in bed for the next few days, we can move her?"

"Yes, though I'd like her to be checked out again before she resumes normal activity."

"Fine," he snapped as he headed out. "I have to take care of some details."

He halted when Michael called, "Agent Wheatley?"

Todd turned and looked at him. "What?"

"Could you see if Dr. Daniels is out of surgery?"

Pursing his lips, Todd nodded, then left.

"Karina will be okay," the doctor reassured them. "We have our best surgeon working on her."

Michael looked down. "It's my fault she was shot."

"Is it true an assassin came after you?"

Sara felt Michael tense behind her. He said, "I'd rather not involve yet another female physician in this mess, if you don't mind."

She nodded. "Of course."

"Dr. Anderson?" Sara asked. "I think Michael's burns need treated. Would you please have someone bring in the supplies? I can do the treatment myself."

"I'd be happy to take care of that for you."

"Also," Sara added, "Could you have somebody look at his chart? I'm guessing he's due for some pain medication."

He bristled. "No—"

"Be quiet, husband."

"I'll get on it," Dr. Anderson promised. "Be good, you two." She left the hospital room.

"You think you can order me around now that we're married?" Michael teased.

"No. I just like calling you husband."

"And I like calling you wife."

"Seriously, Michael, what do you have against pain medication?"

He was quiet for several seconds. "It dulls my senses. I don't want to miss out on one second I have left with you."

She closed her eyes as her chest tightened. They didn't have much time left.

To distract herself, she sat up on the bed, and he followed suit behind her. "Is it okay if I unwrap your bandages? I have to take them off for the treatment." The truth was she'd wanted to see his hands for some time. She needed to see the damage for herself.

"I guess I'll let you, Doctor." She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood. They shifted around on the bed so that they faced each other.

Gently, Sara loosened his bandages. The muscles of his forearms flexed and tightened as she removed the innermost layer of gauze. She felt a lump in her throat as she unveiled the long, intelligent fingers of his gorgeous artist's hands.

The skin was reddened, shiny, and scabbed over, mottled and uneven in some places. She tried to hide her devastation.

But his shrewd eyes took in everything. "They look better than they did three weeks ago."

Hearing the emotion in his voice, she closed her eyes. _His beautiful hands . . ._

She opened her eyes as she forced a sad smile. She drew his free hand to her lips and placed soft kisses along the borders of the burned skin. Michael had sustained these wounds to save her. He'd done this for her.

" _I'll trade my life for hers,"_ he'd told Jonathan Krantz. He hadn't been lying.

When she saw the pain in his eyes, she began to cry.

"Oh, Sara." When he cradled her cheek, he didn't even flinch from the exposed nerve endings of his healing skin. "I'll never regret it." His hand slid down and rested on her belly. "I'd do it all again."

Tears splashed down her face, and she nodded, trying to suppress a sob. He went to join their handcuffed hands but jumped when he noticed a vertical burn on her palm. "What's this?"

"Nothing. It's from holding a pot handle, before I dumped boiling water on the company hit-man. It's almost healed."

"First bug spray, then a hot iron. Now boiling water." He shook his head. "You work wonders at defending yourself with household products. You're a domestic warrior princess . . . a household heroine."

She flashed him a beguiling grin.

"So your hand is burned, too." He leaned in to brush a kiss on her lips, and held his face centimeters from hers, their foreheads touching. "You're _such_ a copycat." Both smiling, they deepened their kiss.

~~ o*o ~~

Karina opened her eyes in the ICU to find three men surrounding her bed.

"Mom!"

Her son's voice had never sounded more precious. She blinked and croaked, "Water?"

Ben took the plastic bottle from the nurse who'd just arrived, and held the straw to her mouth.

Her throat was still raw. "Linc? Would you remove the one-ton brick from my chest?"

He grimaced when he saw the bandage protruding from the collar of her hospital gown. She'd have a scar the rest of her life—a scar that he'd caused.

He clasped her hand. "I'll do anything I can to make it up to you." He squeezed her hand as he swallowed. "You're okay. You made it."

"You survived," LJ said. His shoulders sagged.

A sound made Lincoln look up to find Todd gawking at him.

Todd took in the scene, with Lincoln bending over the bed, gazing at the patient with apparent concern. He'd seen him before in this hospital. His eyes tapered into slits.

" _Dr. Fucking Ryan_."


	33. Bus Driver

33\. Bus Driver

"Dr. _Fucking_ Ryan," Todd sneered.

Lincoln froze.

LJ and Ben stared at the FBI agent.

The pressure on Karina's chest exploded as she looked up from the hospital bed. It appeared the physician's disguise she'd come up with for Lincoln hadn't been so disguising. Michael had warned her not to underestimate Todd, and he'd been right once again.

Lincoln let go of Karina's hand and stepped forward to put himself between Todd and the bed.

Todd glared at the big man. "So, you sneak in here, pretend to be a doctor, try to whisk off your brother? Good thing I came to his room when I did that day, or I'd bust you for _two_ escapes."

"I did _not_ help Sara escape," Lincoln said.

"But you're not denying you tried to get Scofield out of here?"

When he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed. "Michael wouldn't let me."

That response made Todd pause.

"Agent Wheatley?" Karina rasped. "What happened after I got shot?"

He grimaced. "The two policemen are dead."

Karina gasped.

"What about Michael?" asked Lincoln.

"He's fine. Shooter ain't so good, though. He's still in surgery."

Lincoln wanted to rip his heart out. "Who was it?"

"Michael said his name's Downey."

LJ felt sick. "Dad. Who's that?"

Lincoln gave a disgusted shake of his head. "Your grandmother's right hand man."

Karina studied Todd as her muddled mind put the pieces together. "I thought that last shot came from the shooter, but it came from _you_. You saved Michael's life."

Lincoln stepped back. "You saved my brother's life?"

"I did my job." Todd set his jaw. "And the next part of my job is arresting you."

"No!" LJ shouted.

"You can't do that," Karina said.

Todd ignored them. He inched closer as he sized up the muscled statue. "You gonna give me any trouble, Burrows?"

Lincoln licked his lower lip, then sighed and shook his head.

Todd led him to face the ICU wall. He made Lincoln spread his arms on either side of his head, his palms pressed against the glass.

The agent frisked his collar as LJ cried, "Dad!"

Refusing to look at his son, Lincoln hung his head.

Todd reached into his jacket pocket for handcuffs. He felt relieved he'd remembered to get another set from Agent Lang after using his to cuff Michael to the bed. He was good at remembering details like that—he was good at his job. Except when Scofield was around.

"Dad?" LJ sounded forlorn.

Karina spoke up. "You can't take Linc away from his son."

Checking that the cuffs were secure behind Burrows' back, Todd glowered at her. "Clearly you were part of this charade, Dr. Daniels. I'll be back to arrest you later."

"You better not!" Ben's eyes flared.

Todd smirked. "Who's this?"

Karina sighed. "Benjamin is my son."

"I should've known." He looked at the tall blond boy and then back at his mother. "Does Ben's father know you're lusting after a criminal?"

Karina didn't even blush. "His father's dead."

After a beat, Todd said, "I advise you to keep your son away from the Burrows clan, unless you want him to turn out a crook like them."

"Screw _you_ ," LJ snapped.

"LJ!" Lincoln shook his head. "Listen to me—don't stress out about this. Once I explain I had nothing to do with Sara's escape, they'll have to let me go."

Todd pulled his cuffs. "We'll see about that. You broke all kind of laws entering Michael's room."

"Hey, it's not my fault your security sucked. An assassin almost got to Michael, for Christ's sake! And he _did_ get to Karina."

Todd hesitated. "I feel awful about that." He looked at Karina. "An agent will come down to protect you, maybe move you when you're stable. And I suggest you get these boys out of here—this hospital isn't safe."

"Where're we supposed to go?" Ben asked.

"Not my problem, kid." Todd nudged Lincoln. "Let's go."

Lincoln made eye contact with LJ before allowing himself to be propelled forward.

"I want you to be on alert," Todd told him as they left. "You'd recognize one of these company asshats better than I would."

"Doubt it." Lincoln felt his shoulders burn. "You'd recognize an asshat pronto. Takes one to know one."

~~ o*o ~~

Sara felt Michael thrashing around behind her as two FBI agents wheeled the gurney down the hospital corridor.

"Where're you taking us?" he demanded.

"Shut up." The agent pressed the elevator button. His hand darted inside his jacket to rest on the butt of his weapon while he scanned the hallway for any sign of threat.

"Agent Lang?" Sara asked.

Felicia, the other agent, appeared too busy texting to answer her.

Helplessness didn't sit well with Michael. "Where's Karina? Is she okay?"

Felicia nodded. "She's fine. She's in the ICU with an agent guarding her."

"Where's Todd?" Michael asked.

"He's meeting us for the transport—don't worry. I know you miss him."

Michael scowled at her smirk. He hated being swept away without a clue of the plan. Sara had re-bandaged his hands, and he smoothed one over her auburn hair. "You okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, then admitted, "I'm scared."

He grimaced and squeezed her tighter.

When the elevator doors opened, the male agent wheeled the bed inside while Felicia kept watch. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

~~ o*o ~~

Alex read the text. "They're on the move."

"Sounds like our cue to leave," Paul said.

Alex noticed his cool demeanor across the small table of the hotel room.

"What else do we know?" Paul asked.

He swallowed. "They've got Lincoln, too."

"Good—that brute can help us. He'd do anything to free his brother."

"And they're headed to FBI headquarters."

"Then it's now or never, Mr. Mahone." His stare was intense. "You in?"

Alex tapped the faux-wood tabletop. "Never liked Todd Wheatley, anyway." He and Paul shared the tiniest of smiles.

They jumped when Alex's phone rang. He didn't recognize the number but once he heard the caller's voice, his face brightened. It was a man he knew he could trust, unlike the one sitting across from him.

~~ o*o ~~

Todd kept hold of Lincoln's handcuffs as he surveyed the ambulance and government vehicles waiting ready in the underground ambulance bay. He turned to the agent at his side. "They're diverting traumas to Sacred Heart for the next fifteen minutes. Let's capitalize on our window."

"We've got the entrance up there blocked." Agent Hansen pointed up the ramp. "And the doors to the ER. Oh wait, they're here. Jimmy, get the doors."

An agent unlocked the sliding glass doors. Soon after, two more agents wheeled out a gurney.

Lincoln looked over his shoulder. His eyes bugged when he saw his brother and sister-in-law spooning on the gurney.

"Linc!" Michael's eyes locked on his brother.

Lincoln's mouth still hung open. "Sara?"

"Shh!" Todd's gaze darted around the bay. "This area's unsecured. Get them in the bus."

Felicia and the male agent veered the gurney behind the ambulance.

"Please," Lincoln said. "Let me talk to my brother. This might be the last time I see him."

Todd shook his head. "Save it, Burrows—you had your chance to chum it up in his hospital room. You're heading to the same location for now, anyway."

"Then let me ride in the ambulance with them."

" _Right._ Like I'd let that happen. The only one in the ambulance will be me." He looked at two agents. "Hansen, Jimmy, take Burrows to the SUV. Get him ready for transport and I'll send Lang over."

Hansen grabbed one of Lincoln's hard biceps while Jimmy latched on to the other, and they marched the prisoner to the dark-grey SUV. Taking their cue, the other agents scrambled into their government sedans to await Wheatley's instructions.

Todd was pleased to find Michael and Sara's gurney loaded, with Felicia squatting next to them.

Michael's eyes were blue ice. "Why's my brother under arrest?"

"He's been exonerated," Sara added.

"Sure, sure." Todd smiled. "Dr. Ryan's completely innocent."

Sara had no idea why Michael tensed behind her.

"Where're you taking us?" Michael repeated.

"Lang, go join them in the SUV. Make sure Burrows doesn't do anything stupid."

She paused. "I thought I'd be in the ambulance."

Todd frowned at her. "I was going to have Anthony drive the ambulance."

"Oh." She nodded. "You could do that, but you should know I was an EMT before the Academy."

"Really." Todd's brow arched. "You ever drive an ambulance?"

"Of course." Felicia hopped out and patted the deep-red panel of the rear door. "I drove the bus thousands of times." She hoped Todd wouldn't look at her personnel file later.

Michael noticed the edgy set of her shoulders.

"I had no idea you were so talented. Anthony, go to the SUV and take off ASAP. Lang, get ready to roll."

To Michael's chagrin, Todd hoisted himself up and sat across from them in the back of the ambulance. "Now the fun begins." He tapped his shoulder holster. Though the threat of the company pervaded the scene, he seemed to be in his element.

Sara hoped she wouldn't need her medical skills on this particular ambulance ride.

~~ o*o ~~

Perched in the driver's seat of the Hummer, Paul's Aviator sunglasses lent him an unflappable vibe.

Sitting next to him, Alex wished he had sunglasses, too.

They were in an alcove just off the two-lane highway three hundred yards from the hospital, a forest of pine trees behind them and the sand-swept road in front of them.

"Any word?" Paul asked.

Alex checked his phone for the twentieth time in five minutes. "Nothing. My contact's gone quiet."

"Must not be able to chat right now."

A voice piped up from the backseat. "Oye, where the hell'd you get this Hummer?"

Paul glanced in the rear-view mirror at Sucre. "I still have connections, you know." He nodded at Alex's phone. "Just like you."

Alex frowned. "Not that my connections are doing any good right now."

Fernando patted his shoulder. "Relax, hombre. This will work. We got a lotta experience with breakouts."

Paul smirked. He wasn't a fan of bringing Sucre along, but at least the Puerto Rican was attempting to inject some humor. Mahone looked like he was about to shit a brick.

There was some activity near the hospital entrance, and the glint of sun bouncing off a car windshield nearly blinded Paul. An SUV trailed the car, and another sedan was the last car in the caravan. The three vehicles sped toward the hidden Hummer.

"Gentlemen, we have contact." Paul grinned.

~~ o*o ~~

Felicia hid her trembling hands, knowing Todd could see her from his vantage point in the rear of the ambulance. Her fingers itched to text Alex. But after sticking her neck out with the fake story about being an EMT, she didn't want to incriminate herself further. Instead, she listened to Todd interrogate the prisoners.

"So, Dr. Tancredi, you're also claiming Burrows had nothing to do with your escape? What about Alex Mahone? Fernando Sucre? No? How _did_ you get away from Miami-Dade, then?"

She felt Michael's elbow tighten on her hip.

"Don't say anything without Blue here. You'll be exonerated, and Todd knows it."

"Aw c'mon, you don't need your attorney to speak the truth. Don't you want to explain how you outsmarted us all? If I were you, I'd _die_ to crow about my clever breakout."

Sara did want to boast about the mastermind behind her escape, but it wasn't her story to tell. Obviously, Michael had designed the cunning plan. She knew he could find a way to free them now, but he'd decided not to run from the consequences anymore. He'd decided to stop running. She wished she could convince him otherwise, but he was a stubborn man. He was a man of integrity. And she loved him for it.

"Leave her alone," Michael warned.

"Ah, that's sweet." Todd's fake smile faded when he looked at his phone, then at Felicia. "Decoy vehicles are away. Time to move."

She nodded and then eased the ambulance from the curb.

~~ o*o ~~

"Everyone knows their parts, right?" Paul patted the semiautomatic rifle on the seat between him and Alex as the three-car caravan came closer.

"Sí."

"Something doesn't feel right about this." Alex lowered the binoculars.

"They're almost in front of us," Paul said. "Not the time to back out now."

"Lang said Michael and Sara were cuffed to a hospital bed." He pointed at the approaching vehicles. "How would they fit a gurney in one of those cars?"

"That's their problem. We can't wimp out at the last second." Paul inched the car forward. "Once they get inside FBI headquarters, we'll never get them out."

"I know." Alex rubbed his scalp. "Let me think."

The caravan began whizzing by them.

Paul gripped the steering wheel. "Now or never, Alex!"

Alex bit his lip as the vehicles passed. He knew Paul was about to gun the accelerator.

"¡Ambulancia!" Sucre hollered. "Coming out of the hospital!"

The red vehicle crept out of the exit. Its lights and siren were quiet.

Alex looked to his right at the departing caravan, then aimed his binoculars at the ambulance.

"We're losing them!" Paul punched the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "That could be any ambulance. It's a _hospital,_ damn it."

Alex lowered the binoculars to his lap. "That's not just any ambulance. That's the bus carrying Michael and Sara."

"And how do you know that?" Paul asked.

"Because Lang's the one driving it, asshole."

The three exhaled. As the ambulance rolled by, Paul waited two seconds before driving up the grassy, sandy berm. He gunned the accelerator once they hit asphalt. The target was in site.

Author's Note: So much exciting news from Prisneyland. I hear it's possible season five will air in the fall of 2016 instead of making us wait until 2017. Anyone else hear the same thing? And so glad Dominic Purcell is okay after that on-set accident. Wentworth's photos of Morocco look quite interesting. Sucre and I say Gracias for reading!


	34. The Science of the Deal

Author's Note: Only 5 chapters left in Spark and prepare yourself for some Prisneyland moments. It's exciting to see Wentworth's photos from filming in Morocco-I'm so eager for the brilliant writers to show us their vision of season five. Here's the next installment in my little season five attempt.

34\. The Science of the Deal

Michael could see Todd's phone lighting up with repeated calls, but the agent kept ignoring them. The ambulance hurtled down South Douglas Road on its way to Miami FBI headquarters with Felicia Lang in the driver's seat, Michael and Sara handcuffed to the same gurney, and Todd next to them keeping watch.

It must have been the fifth call when Todd muttered, "Damn it." He drew the phone to his ear. _"What?"_

He listened for five seconds. "Liz, I'm in the middle of a prisoner transport—hardly the time to discuss this. You're supposed to go through my attorney, anyway."

Todd looked up to find MiSa staring at him. He turned his body away and lowered his tone. "Yes, I fed her . . . Well, the water bowl was full when _I_ left her . . . I can't help that. Some of us have to work for a living, not that you'd know anything about that . . ."

Sara squirmed from the eerie similarity to her parents' arguments. Her father used to defend his workaholic tendencies to her mother, while Sara would hide in her room, wishing she were somewhere else. Then her mother died, and her father worked even more hours. She frowned when she realized how abandonment had also filled Michael's childhood.

She patted her belly and sank back into her husband's chest. She hoped _this_ baby's childhood would be happy and full of love, supervised by doting parents. Once the parents got out of prison, anyway.

"Do you think Todd's going through a divorce?" Michael whispered.

Sara shrugged. "It'd explain his excessive irritability."

An explosion blasted their ears. The ambulance swerved right, tires squealing. Felicia banked left to force them back on course, but couldn't control the wobbly vehicle. She had no choice but to break to a harsh stop on the side of the road.

"What the fuck was that?" Todd ended his call and dialed another number.

~~ o*o ~~

"Got it!" Alex watched the ambulance careen to one side from its flat tire. He drew the handgun back in through the window as Paul turned the Hummer to a sharp right, off the road. The all-terrain vehicle had no problem absorbing the jolting bumps of the unpaved ground. They lurched through an opening in the trees and came to rest under the cool shade of pines.

"Let's get Papi and Mami." Sucre tucked a handgun into the back of his waist.

"And Linc, too," Alex added.

Paul rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the driver's seat, a rifle in one hand and his Secret Service revolver tucked into his holster. _The genius is the only one I need._ "Look alive, gentlemen."

He crouched and led the way over the sandy grassland.

~~ o*o ~~

Michael sat erect on the gurney, and Sara's eyes widened.

Todd clutched his phone. "We need backup now, sir! . . . No, it's _not_ a flat tire. This has company ambush written all over it." He glared at the driver. "Status update, Lang!"

She had her gun drawn, ducking down on the driver seat, her line of vision bouncing back and forth between the side mirrors. Traffic zoomed by on their left. "I think our rear passenger tire blew?"

"Do you see anyone approaching the vehicle?"

She peered into both mirrors. "Nothing. Maybe I should do a recon."

Todd ran a hand through his brown hair. "Could be a trap. Damn it, I want windows back here."

He'd ignored Michael's steady gaze, but now he searched those cool blue eyes. "Your friends busting you out, Scofield?"

"More like the company trying to finish the job. Uncuff us and give me a weapon. I need a way to protect Sara and the baby."

Todd chuckled. "Yeah, I'll just hand over my Glock. I'll get right on that."

"I bet it's a flat," Felicia called over her shoulder. "Happens all the time in this heat."

"But it's late November," Todd said. "It's been cool."

Felicia shook her head. "It's not like Florida's maintaining these vehicles well, especially in this economy. I'll verify it's a flat, then we'll sit tight, wait for the cavalry."

Todd pressed his lips together. "Fine. Hurry back."

"You got it." Felicia scooted onto the passenger seat. She grasped her weapon as she unlocked the passenger-side door. She slid out and crept down the side of the vehicle to find the rear tire blown, just as expected. She leaned down to squint at the damage. Then the muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of her head—not expected.

"Don't move, Lang!" Alex hollered.

"Fuck." Todd closed his eyes as he exhaled. "Fucking Mahone."

Sara's eyes lit up when she looked at Michael.

With Felicia frozen, Alex reached around her to steal her handgun. He whispered, "You did good, Lish."

"It almost didn't work," she whispered back.

"This gun's unloaded—don't worry."

"Wheatley!" Kellerman pounded on the side of the ambulance. "We got your agent! Open the doors and nobody gets hurt."

"Vámanos, Wheatley," Sucre added.

Once Michael heard his cellie's voice, he broke out into a grin.

Sara marveled, "Fernando."

"Stuff it," Todd hissed. His only comfort was knowing he'd gotten a call off to his colleagues. Would reinforcements arrive in time, or would Scofield outmaneuver him again?

He rushed to the front of the vehicle and locked both doors. Not that it mattered—Mahone probably would've taken the keys from Lang by now.

Outside, Paul kept his voice low. "Sucre, unlock the door."

"No." Alex shook his head. "Wheatley will shoot if he thinks he can hit one of us."

Paul narrowed his eyes and shouted, "You make us come in there, Wheatley, your agent gets shot!"

When a car rolled past, the driver's eyes bugged.

"We got to speed this up," Sucre murmured.

Alex turned to Sucre. "You put the gun on Lang. Wheatley might not be convinced I'd hurt her, but he doesn't know you as well." They switched places.

Alex then took a couple of pairs of handcuffs from Felicia's pocket, handing one set to Paul and using the other to restrain Felicia's hands behind her back. His years of training flooded back as he snapped the cuffs in place.

Felicia felt her pulse increase from his touch on her skin.

Alex leaned in and whispered, "Discourage Wheatley from coming out."

She whipped her head around. _"What?"_

"No point in taking you down with us." Alex circled to look into her eyes. _"One_ of us needs to keep our job."

Felicia smirked. "Oh, and why's that?"

"If we're going to be together, we'll need to pay the bills."

She liked the sound of that.

"Besides, Todd thinks he's one brave bastard. He'll take the bait if he thinks you're being more valiant than him."

Felicia raised her voice. "Don't open up, Todd! I'll be okay—don't let them take the prisoners."

"I'll put a bullet in her head if you don't open those doors!" Paul said.

Todd chewed on his lip as he paced. "Fuck fuck fuck."

Sara said, "Those are murderers out there, Agent Wheatley. They've killed multiple times. They won't hesitate to kill her if they don't get what they want. Do something."

"Don't listen to them!" Felicia yelled. She gasped when Alex jabbed the gun into her ribs.

Todd kept prowling the back of the ambulance.

Michael's smile from hearing Sucre's voice was gone, replaced by a look of resign. He squared his shoulders. "Listen to Felicia and don't open the doors, Todd. Just wait for the other agents to arrive."

"Michael!" Sara retracted her chin. "They're trying to break us out."

He grimaced. "I know." He stared at Todd. "They won't hurt Felicia. They're good men."

"What the fuck kind of game you playing, Scofield?" Todd ran his hands through his hair. "If I don't open up, they'll storm in here, anyway."

"No. Keep stalling till backup arrives." Michael ignored Sara's stare. "Nando! Alex! Get out of here before you get arrested. Agents are on their way."

Todd didn't know what kind of game Scofield was playing, but he wasn't about to be manipulated by the genius once again, especially when an agent's life was on the line. He flung open the back doors and aimed his weapon at the three men who in turn pointed their weapons right back at him. Once Todd saw the Puerto Rican escapee holding a gun to Felicia's head, he froze.

"Drop it!" Paul ordered.

Todd narrowed his eyes as he considered his next move. Finally, he lowered his weapon.

Alex strolled up to Todd. "I'll take that." He unlaced the government-issued handgun from his fingers. Alex felt scorched by the heat of Todd's glare.

"Where's Lincoln?" Alex asked.

"The FBI's got him," Michael answered with a frown.

Paul tossed Alex a set of handcuffs which he used to restrain Todd after he dragged him down from the ambulance.

Todd looked at Paul. "Who the hell are you?"

Paul strode into the ambulance and unlocked Michael and Sara's cuffs.

Helpless and pissed off, Todd watched the scene unfold with his hands cuffed behind his back. Where in Christ was his backup? He looked at Felicia—equally useless to stop this miscarriage of justice—and muttered, "I am _so_ getting fired."

After Paul freed Michael and Sara, he asked, "Now what's this telling us we should leave, Michael? We're breaking you out."

"No you're not."

Michael's response caused Sara to stop her scramble off of the gurney.

Todd's head snapped up, his expression scandalized.

"Don't mess around, Scofield!" Paul's mouth tightened. "The feds are on their way, just like you said."

Michael's stare didn't waver. "Linc's not here—I won't abandon him. And I don't want Sara on the run the rest of her life when she's seconds from being exonerated. The evidence shows she's innocent. Right, Todd?"

Todd realized his mouth hung open. Maybe he wouldn't lose Scofield and Tancredi after all? "Yes. Lisa Tabak and Gretchen Morgan have provided enough evidence to clear Sara."

"Forget about Sara," Paul said. "We need _you_ to fix Scylla, not her. She can stay here for all I care. Let's go."

"Don't think so, Paul." Michael's voice was ice. "I won't go anywhere without my wife. And I won't add another crime to her rap sheet by forcing her to escape with me."

Sara clasped his forearm. "But I want to go, Michael! I can't take it if you go to prison. Please."

Paul blew out a breath. "If you help us fix Scylla, you won't _have_ to go to prison."

"Fat chance," Todd seethed, adding, "What's Scylla?"

Michael looked at Sucre, meeting his friend's black eyes. Could he fix Scylla without his LLI?

 _Holding the eggbeater aloft, Michael gestured to the inner prison wall. "It's just math."_

 _Sucre scrunched his forehead. "What if your math is wrong?"_

 _"You'll drill into one of a dozen gas lines behind the wall. There'll be an explosion and we'll be burned alive."_

 _"But you're good at math, right?"_

Sucre still pointed the gun at Felicia's head, but Michael could tell the weapon disgusted him. He probably just wanted to return to his wife and daughter but was here as a debt to a friend. The whole cops-and-robbers shtick had grown so old. Michael was exhausted from running, abductions, threats, escapes . . .

He simply wanted to make it to the Costa Rican bungalow, retire there and never look back. He gazed into Sara's luminous brown eyes.

 _"Ever been to Baja? Mexico? There's this great place down there—twenty bucks a night, hammock on the back porch, beers are fifty cents, twenty-five cents at happy hour."_

 _He loved the sound of her laugh._

 _"Ever been to Thailand?"_

 _"Michael if you're trying to calm me down, you're doing a terrible job."_

 _He lifted one finger in the air. "But I am trying."_

"Get your ass off that gurney, Scofield!" Paul fumed.

Michael tapped his thigh, then met his glare. "Where's Scylla?"

Paul paused. "Got the laptop in the Hummer."

Michael nodded. "Then we go to the Hummer."

"Finally!" Paul exhaled.

 _"All_ of us go to the Hummer," Michael said.

 _"What?"_ Paul and Todd asked at the same time.

"Everyone, let's go." Michael rose from the gurney and hopped down from the ambulance. He looked at Alex and Sucre. "Take the agents to the vehicle—we don't have much time."

"This is bullshit!" Todd shook his head. "I'm _not_ going with you cons."

"Can it, Deputy Dawg," Sucre said.

Paul gave Michael a hard stare, and then shrugged. Apparently the man with a plan was back. "Let's do it, people." He urged everyone forward with his rifle.

Michael looked up at his wife, who squinted at him. "I can carry you."

She glanced at his bandaged hands, then at the line of cons and cops heading toward the trees. She stepped down from the ambulance. "It's okay, I can walk."

"Lean on me, all right?"

He looped his arm across her midsection as they made their way to the hidden Hummer. Though they were breaking a thousand laws and the FBI would arrive any second, she felt entirely safe in his arms.

"Do you know what you're doing?" she asked.

A hint of a smile quirked up one side of his mouth. "Probably not."

They walked on.

"God, it feels good to be out of those cuffs," Michael said.

"Let's hope you never have to wear them again."

He swallowed. "Sara, I . . . I don't know if I can fix Scylla."

She gazed up into his gemstone eyes. "I have faith in you."

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips as they arrived to the armored vehicle.

Alex had climbed next to the handcuffed Todd and Felicia in the middle seat, and Sucre was about to get into the front passenger seat. Paul held the rear door open for the arriving couple.

"The laptop's back here. Where to? No way I'm taking kidnapped FBI agents to the UN."

"Just get us away from here for now." Michael helped Sara into the rear-facing back seat and clambered in next to her.

On cue, they heard police sirens. Paul slammed the back door shut and hurried to the front, slid into the driver's seat and peeled out. The Hummer roared from the forest and they were back onto the road in no time, soon passing police cars and unmarked federal sedans screaming by them on their left.

From the tinted rear window of the Hummer, Michael watched the law enforcement caravan continue on to the abandoned ambulance. He looked at the computer case at their feet. "Boot it up, Sara."

He felt the panicked tempo of his heartbeat as he watched her unbuckle the case.

 _But you're good at math, right?_

He hoped he'd be good at math, computers, solar energy, science . . . He had to be good at all of those things. The lives of his family depended on it.


	35. Scylla

35\. Scylla

Sara's hands trembled as she opened the Scylla program.

Paul drove the Hummer over busy, sometimes bumpy Miami streets, and Sara attempted to steady the laptop for Michael. She could tell he was frustrated by his inability to operate the computer himself due to his bandaged hands.

"What'd you say was the problem?" Michael called up to Paul.

Todd's cell phone began ringing, followed by Felicia's. But both handcuffed agents couldn't answer.

"I need to answer that call," Todd said.

Sitting between Todd and Felicia, Alex ignored him.

Over his shoulder, Paul yelled, "The thermoelectric device has dropped to fifteen percent efficiency."

Michael scrunched his forehead. _"Fifty?_ Isn't that excellent energy harnessing?"

"Fif-TEEN!" Paul corrected over the din of ringing phones.

"Oh." Michael pursed his lips. "What _had_ it been running at?"

"Forty-two percent."

Michael stared at the computer screen. "No wonder it's worth so much money."

Sara had no clue what they were talking about. She focused only on keeping the fetal heart monitor screen hidden from Michael. The last thing he needed to know was that the baby's heart rate had increased to 165 beats a minute. Once the peanut reached 175, the monitor would start beeping, and she didn't want that distraction in the midst of the current chaos.

"Click on the temperature readings there." Michael gestured to a pull-down menu on the screen.

Felicia's phone stopped ringing but a second later Todd's started up again. "Alex!" Michael barked.

"I'm on it." Alex had already reached into Todd's jacket to turn it off.

"Get your hands off me." Todd leaned away but couldn't stop him.

Performing the same action with the female agent was infinitely more enjoyable for Alex.

Felicia tried to hide her smile.

"So, Mahone," Todd said, "you _are_ aware Scofield knows you betrayed him on the first plan to break out Sara, right? He told me he knew it was you."

When Alex looked down, Todd knew he'd hit a nerve. "Not such a love fest between you now, is it?"

From the front passenger seat, Sucre's mouth dropped open. Alex had snitched to Wheatley?

Michael paused.

"I was confused," Alex eventually said to Todd. "For some stupid reason, I thought I wanted to return to the bureau, work with pricks like you. I didn't know who my true friends were."

Alex craned his neck to look at Michael in the back seat. "Now I do." He blinked a few times. "Sorry, Michael. Sorry, Sara. I won't let my loyalty get confused again."

Paul ordered, "Let's not lose our focus, people. The feds could track us down any second."

"Damn straight my people will hunt you down," Todd said. "Oh, and news flash—this little computer repair project's never going to work. Get me out of these cuffs before the lot of you goes to prison."

Sucre frowned. "He's right, Kellerman. Michael can't concentrate. We need to stop somewhere and let Papi focus."

Paul followed the sign to _A1A: Beaches._

~~ o*o ~~

"And don't you dare get sand in my laptop." Paul left the couple on the deserted beach and headed back to the car parked in the lot. He'd just finished briefing them on the Scylla schematics.

Thinking about Scofield's bandaged hands and Tancredi's swollen belly, Paul chewed on the inside of his cheek. There was little chance they could figure out how to fix such a complex system. Hell, world-renowned _scientists_ had fallen short. Those super nerds had claimed they needed the creator of the program to figure it out.

But now that creator, Christina Scofield, was six feet under. Though her son _was_ available. The question remained: Was he too broken to fix Scylla, the solution to world hunger? Had the female monster, its six heads hungry for prey, taken the men Westmoreland, Tweener, Abruzzi, Haywire, and Bellick, and now wanted to kill her sixth—her son?

Sara shifted the fetal heart monitor screen to her side. She could hear Wheatley's faint bitching from the vehicle, but for the most part, the constant crash of waves onto the shore was their only accompaniment.

Michael watched the ocean breeze lift strands of auburn hair away from her face, revealing her high cheekbones and porcelain skin.

He swept his arm across his chest in a grand gesture. "The ocean _is_ your front yard."

She laughed, grateful for his infusion of humor, then turned the laptop toward him. "Okay, Scofield, let's see if you really are a genius. Time to fix this thing."

He nodded. "Would you remove my bandages?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Her eyebrows pulled together. "The burns aren't healed enough to be exposed like that."

"I have to. I have to get in there."

"Michael, we both know that even if you can fix it, there's no guarantee you won't go to super-max. Don't risk it. Let's just run . . . we'll go to Mexico this time. Baja. They'll never find us."

 _All that avails is flight._ His father's words floated in his head.

He sighed and looked down. He remembered origami cranes left by his nightstand, Lincoln's regret for not being there for LJ, and the weight of his father dying in his arms. After a beat, he said, "If there's a chance I can be with you and the baby, I've got to take it. I don't want the peanut to grow up without a father. I want us to be free. Really free."

Her eyes welling with tears, she reached out to cup his chin. "I want that, too." She gazed at him for a long moment before unwrapping his bandages. His healing skin was still raw and reddened.

He winced when he flexed his long fingers.

"Let's do this." Each touch on the keyboard sparked jolts of pain up his arms, but he was accustomed to dealing with pain. Physical pain he could handle. It was the emotional pain that had become too much to bear. Separating himself from Sara and Lincoln would be untenable if he had to face it again.

The cloudy sky kept the temperature cool on the beach.

Thirty minutes later, his confidence waned. "Damn it, Sara!"

"What can I do? Do you want me to get Paul?"

Michael exhaled. "He's no scientist." He gritted his teeth. "I can't diagnose the problem. I can't see inside . . . The thermoelectric device seems to function right, but the energy conversion keeps dropping off."

Sara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she tried to think of a way to help him. She'd always been better at biology than physics or engineering.

"It doesn't make sense! The temperature meter's running at an even cadence, the difference in temperatures between the materials appears to be holding steady . . ."

Staccato beeps interrupted his train of thought. He peered at the computer, but finding nothing amiss, he looked up at Sara. "What's that beeping noise?"

Pokerfaced, she shrugged.

"It's coming from . . ." He reached across her lap and found the monitor she'd been hiding. He wrestled it from her grasp as he placed his palm against her belted belly. "The baby! The baby's in distress?"

"The peanut will be fine," she panted. "I just have to calm down. Seems like when my heartbeat increases, so does the baby's."

He nodded. "It's okay, Sara. Breathe . . . breathe. You're going to be okay. We're going to be okay."

Michael watched her struggle to take some deep breaths, observing some color return to her face. He attempted to calm himself, too, as he felt a rise of panic threatening to choke him.

As tenderly as he could manage, he leaned in to press a kiss on her lips. He found himself breathing rhythmically with her, breath by breath.

Her cheeks flushed a rosy color when she pulled away. "If you're trying to _decrease_ my heart rate, kissing me is a terrible idea."

His low, throaty chuckle resonated deep inside of her.

The baby seemed to disagree with the mother about the healing power of the father's kiss.

"Ah." Michael exhaled as the beeping stopped. He kept one hand pressed to Sara's belly. "Thank goodness."

She rested her temple on his shoulder.

He sighed. "Maybe I can't fix Scylla without the LLI. I just can't see what's going on inside." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Sara. I really wanted to do this for you. For you . . ." He glanced down at her belly. ". . . and for the baby."

She smoothed one hand across his stubbly hair, awed by the love she felt for him.

He sat up like a shot. "Are there power cords in the laptop case?" He yanked the case next to him and scrounged through it.

"I believe so. What're you thinking?"

He pulled out a couple of cords from a side pocket. Grasping her hands in his, ignoring the pain of his burned skin, his excited crystal eyes bore into hers. "Keep breathing, Sara, because I need the baby monitor for a minute or two. I'm going to use it to diagnose Scylla."

Her eyebrows arched. Normally she'd have scoffed at such a preposterous idea, but feeling his passion, she merely nodded and removed the monitor's belt. With a genius like Michael Scofield, all things were possible.

~~ o*o ~~

"Does it ever get better after divorce?" Alex pondered Todd's question. "No."

"Well, it can't get much worse," Todd said.

Irritated by the little bonding session going on in the middle seat, Paul's eyes rose to the ceiling of the Hummer.

"I'll never divorce," Sucre added. "Maricruz is stuck with me."

The sound of the rear door unlatching interrupted their conversation.

Paul glanced in the rear-view mirror and met Michael's eyes. "Well?"

He was stone-faced. "We fixed it."

"No shit. How?" Paul asked.

"The temperature monitor was off. The cadence appeared normal, but it was off by a few hundredths of a second."

Paul's eyes widened. "And how'd you discover that?"

"I booby-trapped the fetal heart monitor with the computer. It diagnosed the problem."

Sucre began laughing. "Ay yi yi."

"Okay, Boy Wonder." Alex shook his head. "Where to now?"

Michael hesitated as he looked at Todd.

 _All that avails is flight_.

"That depends on Agent Wheatley," Michael answered. "Are you ready to make a deal?"

"Screw you, Scofield."

Michael gave Sara a wary glance.

On the other side of Alex, Felicia said, "Maybe you should at least _listen_ to the deal, Todd."

Feeling the cramped pain in his shoulders and the numbness in his wrists from being handcuffed so long, Todd finally sighed. "Okay, cons, what's the deal?"

Author's Note: Prisneyland, baby! Anything can happen. I so appreciate you reading my story!


	36. Selfless

36\. Selfless

 _Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear._

~ Ambrose Redmoon

As Paul eased the Hummer up the ramp of the circular drop-off area, Michael stared at the office building looming above: the Miami FBI Headquarters. For a moment he wished Todd hadn't taken the deal.

Todd's shoulders burned—he needed out of the damn cuffs. "Well, what're we waiting for?"

From the middle seat, Alex craned his neck around to meet a set of cool blue eyes in the rear. When Michael nodded, Alex unlocked Todd's handcuffs.

"Ohhh." Todd massaged his hands and stretched his shoulders.

"Not so great being cuffed, is it?" Alex offered the handcuffs to Todd.

"Shut up, Mahone." Now free, Todd resumed his authoritative demeanor. "Give back my weapon and phone, and unlock Agent Lang."

Alex followed the third command first, swiveling to face Felicia on his other side. Once he'd freed both agents, he relinquished the handgun and phone to Todd before returning Felicia's phone. When his hand brushed against hers, he noticed her clandestine smile.

Sucre reached over the front seat to give Felicia her weapon. "Here you go." He batted his long eyelashes at her. "No hard feelings?"

"We'll see about that, Fernando. For now, anyway, the deal stipulates that you and Alex go free."

"Speaking of the deal . . ." Todd rotated and climbed on his knees.

In the rear-facing seat, Michael looked at Sara. She seemed to force down a swallow.

Todd said, "Hands behind your head, Scofield."

"No." Sara turned away and stared out the rear window.

Studying her profile, his mouth tightened as he took in every detail of her soft features. "We made a deal, Sara. It'll work out."

She pivoted to meet his gaze. "I don't like this deal."

He hated the look of fear in her eyes, and he smoothed one hand down the side of her head. "I had to. You and Linc will be safe—that's all I ever wanted."

Sara stifled a sob as he leaned in and feathered a kiss on her lips. She shuddered into him, feeling a tear escape from her tightly squeezed eyes.

Despite his irritation from the delay, Todd found himself looking away to give the couple some privacy. It had been that tender between Todd and his wife once. Now, they couldn't be in the same room together.

In the front seat, Sucre also turned away, wringing his hands in his lap. The military training of Paul and Alex made them stare straight ahead.

Finally Michael pulled out of the kiss. He cradled her head with one hand while the other rested on her belly. The next time he could touch her, the baby would likely be born, maybe even grown up . . . without him. Darkness crossed his face. He straightened, scooted forward, and laced his fingers together behind his head.

Without hesitation, Todd took hold of one of one wrist then another to cuff them behind his back.

Michael braced his shoulders so the raw skin on his wrists wouldn't rub against the cuffs. His head dipped—he was a captured criminal once again.

Todd nodded at Felicia, and she said, "Okay, Sara."

Sniffing, Sara swiped her hand across her cheek and then mimicked Michael's actions, moving forward on the seat and clasping her hands behind her head as she looked out the rear window.

It took less than five seconds for Felicia to handcuff her.

When Sara's shoulder touched her husband's, she felt bolstered by his courage. She forced herself to relax so she wouldn't upset the fetus. Michael knew what he was doing. He'd gotten them out of one jam after another, and it wouldn't be fair to question him. Still, so much rested outside of their control.

Todd looked at Paul. "You'll take Scylla to the UN now?"

He'd slipped on his Aviator sunglasses, and his face was a mask of stone. "Yes. We'll be in touch."

Todd turned to Alex. "And you and him—" he tilted his head at Sucre "—get out of here once we leave. There're plenty of agents inside who want to talk to you about Sara's escape."

From the front seat, Sucre frowned. "We can't just take off. It's not right."

Sara peered over her shoulder. "Go to your family, Fernando. We'll be okay."

"But, but I should carry you in there. The baby, Doc. You shouldn't have all this stress."

"We'll take care of it," Todd said. "She'll be fine walking the few feet in there."

"Papi . . ." Sucre's voice softened. "I . . . I'll see you soon, okay?"

Michael nodded. "Be good, Nando."

"Let's go, Lang," said Todd. He stepped out and reveled in his freedom.

As Felicia opened the door on the other side of the vehicle, she felt Alex's hand clasp her wrist. She turned to look into his troubled eyes.

"Be safe, Lish."

"You too," she whispered back. She climbed out and moved to the rear of the vehicle where Todd was making a phone call.

Sara tensed as she waited to be hauled inside the building. "You're quiet," she murmured.

Michael exhaled. "If I open my mouth, I might try to back out of the deal."

She knew he was terrified of super-max and being separated from his family. But he didn't let that stop him from doing _everything_ to protect those he loved.

Sara could only imagine what it had been like for him back when this all began. Back when he'd scooped up two guns on his way to robbing the bank, his gorgeous hands hovering over the weapons before pocketing the tickets to Fox River. The tickets to meeting her.

They'd come so far from that day in the infirmary when she'd asked him if he was scared. He'd refused to answer, giving her only a silent stare. They now told each other their deepest fears, trusting each other like a couple that had been together for years. Only now, they might be _separated_ for years.

She squared her shoulders to try to be as brave as her husband, though she knew she could never reach such heights.

All business now, Todd opened the car door and reached in for Michael's bicep. "Let's go, Scofield."

He winced as he unfolded his long body and stepped out.

Felicia led Sara out of the car next. The agents escorted the prisoners toward the door but stopped when Alex materialized by their side.

"Cuff Sara's hands in front of her," he ordered Felicia. "Agent Wheatley and I will carry her inside."

Felicia hesitated.

Sara shook her head. "Alex, no. You'll be arrested if you go in there."

Alex glanced at Michael, who returned his gaze. Though Michael wouldn't ask for help, Alex knew he was worried about his wife and child. "That's a risk I'll have to take."

"This is ridiculous." Todd rolled his eyes.

"You're afraid you won't be able to handle her weight?" Alex challenged.

"Give me a break." Todd eyed Sara's lean frame. "She'd blow over in a strong wind."

"Yes, but she is tall," Michael said. "And pregnant. I bet she's heavy." That comment earned a glare from his wife but elicited the desired response from Todd.

"Fine," he snapped, yanking the keys out of his pocket and locking Sara's wrists together in the front.

Stepping up to Sara, Alex looked at Todd. "Remember the basket hold they taught us at the Academy?"

"Of course." Todd leaned in to lift Sara's right side while Alex did the same on her left. "I'm surprised they taught the basket hold at the Academy back then. Didn't you spend all your time packing gunpowder into the barrel of your weapon?"

Alex huffed, " _Gunpowder?_ That's way too advanced for my time."

"Thought so." Todd smirked.

Nudged forward by Felicia, Michael gaped at the two agents smiling at each other.

As they headed toward the elevator, a burly blond agent halted once he caught sight of Todd. "Todd-oh! We got half the office out looking for your ass. Why haven't you answered your phone?"

"Hit the up button, Hansen," Todd panted. "And call the other agents in from the field. We obviously have the Scofields in custody."

"'Bout fucking time." He punched the button and lowered his voice. "The director's having a coronary." He shifted into a Ricky Ricardo accent. "You got some 'splainin' to do, Lucy."

"Shit," Todd muttered. "I just left a message for him. Where'd you put Burrows?"

Hansen's eyes widened. "You want me to tell you that in front of his brother?"

"Don't worry." Todd looked at Michael. "Scofield won't break anyone out of here."

The elevator car arrived and Hansen shrugged. "As you like. Burrows is in room three."

"Good." Todd and Alex carried Sara into the elevator, while Michael and Felicia followed.

A couple of minutes later, Lincoln glanced up to find his brother and sister-in-law entering the interrogation room. He tried to stand but was thwarted by the handcuffs restraining him to the chair. "You're okay?" He gave his brother the once-over to make sure he hadn't sustained further injuries. His brow furrowed when he saw Alex and Todd carry Sara to another chair around the table. "What's wrong?"

"I'm all right, Lincoln," Sara answered. "It's just a precaution for the baby."

While Todd and Felicia maneuvered their prisoners into position on the chairs, locking them in place with the handcuffs, Alex stood by idly.

"What're _you_ doing here?" Lincoln asked him.

"He and Sucre and Paul came to the rescue," Michael said.

"No shit? How'd you end up here then, back in custody?"

Michael and Sara exchanged a nervous look.

Todd yanked his thumb toward the door. "Lang, take care of Mahone."

"Let's go, Alex." She tugged at his arm.

Alex's mouth tightened, giving Michael one last glance before he let Felicia lead him out of the room.

"What's going on?" Lincoln demanded.

Sara said, "Michael fixed Scylla."

Lincoln sat up. "Then why're you in cuffs? Kellerman's gonna get you out of here, right?" When Michael didn't respond, Lincoln repeated, _"Right?"_

"The FBI's not going for it," Michael quietly explained. "They can't let me go. But Todd made a deal with me if I agreed to turn myself in."

Lincoln's stomach clenched. He suspected he knew the kind of deal his brother would make, and Todd approaching him with keys in hand confirmed his suspicion. "No!" Lincoln struggled to block him. "No! I won't allow it!"

"Stop it, Burrows!" Todd squinted. Typically it was a fight to put _on_ the handcuffs, not take them off.

Michael's voice sounded forlorn. "Linc."

"What about Sara?" Lincoln continued to evade Todd's efforts to free him. "You're gonna let her get killed in prison?"

"The charges against Sara have been dropped," Todd said. "Once I confirm it with the DA and my director, she's free."

Lincoln slumped back in his chair with disgust. He glared at his brother. "You've done it again, haven't you? You went and ruined your life, to save me."

Todd took advantage of Lincoln's stupor to unlock the handcuffs. But he regretted it when Lincoln roared off the chair and grabbed Todd by the shoulders.

"How could you let him do this? How could you let him throw away his life like this?"

Michael watched Todd reach for his weapon. "Linc, think about LJ. He needs you."

Pushing Todd aside, Lincoln stalked toward his brother.

Sara thought at first that Lincoln was going to pound him, but instead he clutched the arms of the chair, leaning over Michael and staring him down with stormy eyes. "LJ needs _you_ , you self-sacrificing bastard! I need you! Sara needs you! Did you ever _ask_ me if I wanted you to sacrifice your life for me? Did you?"

Michael's eyes never left his brother's, beholden to his fiery glare. "No."

"Damn right you never asked me! How'd you decide your freedom was worth less than mine? That's bullshit, Michael! And you can't tell me I deserve freedom more than you do because of LJ. You're a father too, now."

Michael swallowed. "Yeah, I'm also a father. Is it so wrong to want my wife and child to be free? To avoid running for the rest of their lives? Is it wrong of me to want my brother to be free?"

"Yes!" Lincoln let go of Michael's chair and spun around, looking for a target for his fury. Todd had taken a few steps away from the big man. When Lincoln cocked his arm and sent his fist crashing into the plastic table, Sara gasped.

Michael flinched. "Linc."

His chest heaving, Lincoln scowled at him. He cradled one hand with the other.

"Do you want me to look at your hand?" Sara asked.

Lincoln shook his head.

She aimed a sardonic look at her husband. "What is it with you brothers and pounding your fists into inanimate objects?"

Lincoln crouched next to Michael, bringing him eye level with his brother. "Could you have gotten away from the feds? When Sucre and Mahone did the carjacking?"

Michael didn't answer him.

"You could've. You could've run. But I was stuck here, so you didn't."

"I already told you I'm not turning Sara and the baby into fugitives."

Looking at Sara's abdomen and then back at his brother, Lincoln grabbed Michael's arm. "I'm not worth you flushing your life down the toilet. I'm an anchor, man."

"No you're not. You're my brother."

"You have a family to think about now," Lincoln went on. "Think about all the amazing stories you'll tell your kid. You'll be to be the type of father our dad never was: someone to look up to."

Michael felt his throat tighten. "I didn't need Dad. I looked up to you."

It was silent in the room as the brothers stared at each other.

Lincoln slowly shook his head. "Then that was your first mistake, dumbass."

One corner of Michael's mouth quirked. "And my second?"

"Falling in love with the prison doctor. I mean really, Michael. _Really?"_

"I couldn't help it." Michael shrugged. "She was hot."

"I thought you said I was _heavy."_ Sara narrowed her eyes.

"Hot _and_ heavy," Michael conceded, grinning at her.

Todd's phone rang, and he looked at the number. "Okay cons. I think it's time for Burrows to leave."

"Think again," Lincoln said, rising to his feet. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I need to see my director, and I won't leave you here."

Lincoln stood steadfast. "I'm a free man, right? I can do as I please."

Michael frowned. "What about LJ?"

"I'll go to LJ soon, but not before I talk you out of being so stupid."

Todd's phone lit up again. "I gotta talk to my boss. The three of you—don't go anywhere."

Todd jostled down the hallway, ignoring the surprised looks or thumps on the back from fellow agents, and strode past Director Sullens' secretary despite her protests that somebody was already in the office. He walked in to find Paul Kellerman at the director's side, showing him the finer points of Scylla on the laptop computer.

Todd tilted his head. "Did you already get back from the UN?"

"No." Paul stood. "I decided the director needed to see Scylla for himself."

Richard Sullens looked up at his agent. "Scofield fixed this?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you _let_ him fix it, instead of bringing him straight here? That's why I wasted so much manpower trying to find you and Lang?"

Todd chewed on the inside of his cheek. Multiple images flashed through his mind: raising his gaze from Downey's body to meet Michael's startled blue eyes, Michael and Sara's desperate kiss moments ago, Lincoln pleading with his brother to stop sacrificing himself . . .

"No, sir. I didn't _let_ him fix it. Scofield's men overtook me and restrained me."

Richard bolted from his seat. "You allowed yourself to be overpowered? Did they take your weapon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Jesus, Todd. You're lucky to be alive. Is Lang okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"So the criminals had you at gunpoint, and now they're back in custody? How the hell did that happen?"

"I, um, I made a deal with Scofield."

Richard's eyebrows shot up. "You made a deal with _Michael Scofield?"_

"Yes, sir. Michael agreed to turn himself in if I let his brother and wife go."

Richard paced. "We got nothing from Lincoln Burrows the whole time he's been in here. I don't think we can hold him, anyway. But the doctor—that's another matter. She escaped from _prison,_ Todd."

"Yes, sir. And you and I both know she never should've been in prison in the first place. We know her life was in danger—Scofield _had_ to free her or she would've died."

"That's for the courts to decide. I can't just release her."

"Blue Phillips is already making threats if we don't release her. He knows the DA's ready to drop the case, once the additional evidence came to light. We have to act quickly, sir. You need to talk this over with the DA."

Smoothing one hand across his jaw, Richard paused. "Fine, but I won't make any promises."

Todd nodded.

"Agent Wheatley, I'm very disappointed by your handling of this case. Sounds like the only reason this didn't turn into a complete shitstorm is Scofield's unwavering loyalty to his family. I want a full report before you leave tonight—get working on it now."

"Yes, sir." Todd tensed. "But I'm not done yet."

Richard cocked one eyebrow.

"I want Scofield released, too."

Richard's lips parted, and Paul's gaze snapped up.

Todd me the director's eyes. "When you assigned me this case, why didn't you brief me about the company?"

"Has that corrupt Alex Mahone gotten to you?" Richard had zero respect for the agent he'd investigated in Chicago.

"No, sir, Michael Scofield got to me. Lisa Tabak got to me. Gretchen Morgan, Henry Pope, Ted Downey, Karina Daniels, Sofia Lugo . . . they all got to me. The company tried to assassinate Scofield right in front of me! How can you deny they exist?"

"And how can you excuse Michael Scofield for his crimes, no matter what evidence crops up about this 'company'? He made you look like a damn fool, Todd! He broke his wife out under your watch. He needs to pay for his crimes."

"He already has paid," Paul cut in. "He deserves to go free."

Richard spun around to glare at him.

Paul added, "And the company _is_ real. I know this because I worked for them."

Todd nodded. "Listen to him, Richard. Scofield got wrapped up in a mess way beyond his control when he saved his brother. Yet he did everything he could not to get drawn into the corruption. He did everything he could to help others, including turning over Scylla to the UN and making sure it keeps working. You need to free him."

"How dare you tell me what to do. You're not the one in charge here."

"Go ahead and fire me, then. This job's already ruined my marriage, and I won't let it destroy my integrity as well. Michael Scofield is innocent."

Director Sullens looked from Todd to Paul, stunned by what they'd proposed. After breaking practically every law in the justice system, Michael Scofield would go _free?_

 _Author's Note:_ I'm so grateful for you taking the time to read this story. Hopefully it can tide you over a little until the show is back for realz. SQUEE.


	37. Quasimodo

Author's Note: This is the penultimate chapter-only one left after this one. One of my buddies from the Fox Prison Break forum, Cecile, is featured in this chapter. We had so much fun dissecting the show on the forum. I wonder if it will come back for the revival. Happy reading!

37\. Quasimodo

Bored, Lincoln flopped onto one of the chairs in the FBI interrogation room. "Where'd Todd the Turd go?"

Michael grinned. His brother had always been the king of social grace. "Hopefully he's finalizing the details of Sara's release."

"Hopefully he's _not_ finalizing the details of your transfer to ADX Florence," Sara added.

Silence enveloped the three.

"So _this_ is weird," Lincoln said. "I'm free, but you and the doc are in cuffs." His tongue swept across his lower lip, an action which would have driven Karina crazy had she been in the room. "Has that ever happened before?"

"Doubt it," Michael shot back. "Typically you're the first to be cuffed."

Lincoln chuckled, a low rumble in the room. "Very true."

"Usually you two are cuffed and _I'm_ free. Like when . . ." Sara looked down.

Michael prompted, "Like when?"

A blush crept onto her cheeks. "I'm thinking of the infirmary, the morning of Lincoln's . . . execution."

 _Sara watched the brothers gaze at each other through the glass of separate exam rooms, their eyes seeming to communicate what words could not. Lincoln was cuffed to a bed, and a CO removed Michael's handcuffs._

 _Michael turned to her as she crossed the room. "I need to see my brother. To talk. Just for five minutes."_

 _Sara nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll try."_

 _He rubbed the pads of his palms together, waiting for good news. But he could see from the slump of Sara's shoulders that the guard had denied his request._

 _Returning to the exam room, Sara sighed. "Um, I'm sorry. I'm told that you have to wait until final visitation."_

 _Michael launched into his next plea. "Would you talk to your father, for me?" Her eyes widened, and he added, "Please?"_

" _Believe me, my father knows where I stand on the death penalty."_

" _Sara, uh, Dr. Tancredi, I'm sorry." He winced, then seemed to get a hold of himself, his voice strengthening. "This isn't about the morality of the death penalty. This is about killing an innocent man—my brother."_

The innocent man, very much alive, looked at Michael. "I knew you did everything you could, that night you gave me the disgusting black pill. That's what you wanted to tell me in the infirmary, right? That you felt bad the escape didn't work?"

Michael nodded.

Lincoln approached Michael and cupped his shoulder. "But you did make it work, later. You got me out of there. What you did for me . . ."

Hearing the emotion in his brother's voice, Michael patted his hand. "I'd do it all again, Linc. I would."

His brow furrowed, and he turned to Sara. "You, too." His gaze was intense. "Thank you for what you did."

She swallowed as she remembered sitting on his cot in the SHU later that day, preparing for the execution.

 _When she cradled his trembling hands in hers, his head snapped up. "You been through this before?"_

" _No." She looked down. "Uh, just so you know, a doctor needs to be present, so, for what it's worth, I'll be there tonight."_

" _Can I ask you a favor?"_

 _She responded in a second. "Yeah . . . what?"_

" _When I'm gone can you, can you look out for my brother?"_

 _Her throat tightened._

"You've been amazing to both of us, Sara," Lincoln said. "Even though I didn't die that night, you _have_ looked after Michael, just like I asked."

Lincoln squatted by Michael's chair. "You don't need looked after. I know that now. You're the one who's looked after _me_ all my life, having to be the big brother to the big brother. And I can't watch you take the fall for this, all alone. I can't let you do this."

Michael lowered his head and studied the shiny scars from electrical burns. "It's out of our hands, Linc."

~~ o*o ~~

It was only a few minutes after Paul Kellerman had left, taking Scylla with him, that two newcomers arrived to Director Richard Sullens' office: Defense Attorney Blue Phillips and District Attorney Cécile Montrachet.

Cécile's neat ponytail showcased her heart-shaped face. Despite her soft French accent, she had no problem holding her own in the squabble she and Blue had started in the hallway.

"There's no need for a trial, Mr. Phillips," she explained. "Mr. Scofield's returning to prison based on his escape attempts. An automatic ten years added to his bid."

"But he's already been exonerated for the bank robbery and the Fox River escape," Blue said. "It'd be double jeopardy to charge him with those crimes again. You have to give him due process."

Richard held up his hand. "Excuse me. I'm Director Richard Sullens, and this is Agent Todd Wheatley. We've talked on the phone, Ms. Montrachet, but it's a pleasure to meet in person." He shook her hand.

"And Director, this is Blue Phillips, Scofield's attorney," Todd said.

"Dr. Tancredi's attorney as well," Blue added. He wondered why there was less contempt in Todd's voice. Maybe it was because he was trying to impress the sexy DA, who he was clearly ogling. "Where're my clients?" asked Blue.

"In an interrogation room nearby," Todd said.

Richard gestured to a conference table in the corner of the office. "Please, everyone, have a seat." He took the chair at the head of the table, with opposing counsel choosing opposite sides. Todd picked the seat next to Cécile.

"We'll get back to Mr. Scofield, but first I want to talk about Dr. Tancredi," Cécile said.

Blue nodded.

"You're telling me you want all charges against her dropped?"

"The new video evidence clearly shows she acted in self-defense," Blue said.

"It's obvious Christina Hampton was about to shoot Scofield when Tancredi fired," Todd added.

Blue sent him a bewildered look. Why was he helping his case?

Cécile turned to Richard. "Is the FBI okay with letting Dr. Tancredi go?"

Richard frowned. "She _did_ escape from prison."

Blue reached into his briefcase and took out papers. "We already have evidence of a contract out on Dr. Tancredi's life. I'd also like to alert you of a new witness—a Miami-Dade CO who confessed to beating up Dr. Tancredi her first day there." He handed copies of an interview with the woman to Cécile and Richard.

"Warden Sims can't be happy about this," Cécile said.

Blue grimaced. "Warden Sims is the one who told me about the CO's confession. Apparently the guard came forward once she learned Dr. Tancredi was innocent."

Blue let the government employees look over the papers. "I doubt the DA wants it known that COs beat up a pregnant woman to get back at her husband for outsmarting them. You let her go now, and I'll make sure none of this sees the light of day."

Pressing her lips together, Cécile nodded. She'd seen the evidence and knew it would be unwise to pursue a trial. "The prosecution will drop all charges against Dr. Sara Tancredi."

Blue barely finished his exhale before Cécile said, "Now, onto Michael Scofield. I'll concede to a jury trial, and we're prepared to make a strong case against him. What other evidence do you have?"

"I've already shared the contract on Sara's life. Warden Sims will also testify that Michael pleaded with her to move his wife to Ad Seg, but her refusal forced him to rescue her."

Cécile cocked a sculpted eyebrow. "Vigilante justice is not a defense, Mr. Phillips."

Blue smiled. "No, but the private defence is a defense."

The prosecutor stilled.

Blue continued, "Michael Scofield was acting in defense of his wife when he broke her out of prison. She was in imminent danger, and the escape was a reasonable action taken to thwart that danger. Michael Scofield had no choice but to use his special abilities to save his wife from death."

Cécile shook her head. "No way you'll prove that to a jury. There were countless alternative actions Mr. Scofield could've taken besides breaking his wife out of a maximum security prison."

"Like what?" Blue jabbed his finger in the air. "He tried every legal channel known to humankind, and still his brother came within _seconds_ of wrongful execution! Do you think he'd just stand around, plead with deaf government officials, wait to get _some_ response while the company killed his innocent wife?"

The force of Blue's shouts had made Todd lean back in his chair. "Dude, take a breather. We're on your side. We want to see justice prevail here, too." He aimed a stern look at Cécile. "Right, Ms. Montrachet?"

"Of course."

Blue's voice lowered a notch. "You do _not_ want a trial, Madame District Attorney. Think about it. From Dr. Tancredi's trial, the public knows Secret Service set up Lincoln Burrows. Once they heard the evidence, that jury let Dr. Tancredi go in a flash. She was acting to prevent imminent harm to Lincoln Burrows, and the reasonableness of her actions was obvious.

"I can easily argue for the private defense for Michael Scofield as well, and you know it. He had to extract his wife from that prison or she would've been murdered. Do you _really_ want to take this case in front of a jury? Dredge up the government conspiracy against this hapless family once again? Highlight the FBI's inability to thwart Michael from escaping two maximum security prisons, thus weakening their security when the details of his escapes are exposed?"

Cécile took in his arguments. "I'd like to speak to Director Sullens alone, please."

Blue and Todd got up and headed to the other corner of the expansive office while the prosecutor and director spoke in hushed tones.

"You think they'll go for it?" Todd asked.

Blue studied him from the corner of his eye. "They'd be incredibly stupid not to."

"Don't underestimate the government. Incredibly stupid is our middle name."

Despite himself, Blue chuckled.

After about ten minutes, Cécile motioned for them. As Blue sat, her searched her face for clues about Michael's future.

"We won't prosecute," she said.

Blue hid his deep relief and nodded like he'd expected that outcome all along. "Of course you won't. And you also won't let future district attorneys prosecute, either. I want immunity for Michael and Sara."

Richard's jaw dropped. "What? Not going to happen!"

Cécile played it more coolly. "I plan to be in office for quite some time, Mr. Phillips, but even if future candidates beat me in elections, it's highly unlikely they'll prosecute this case, for the same reasons I'm letting it go now."

"Then why not make sure?" Blue asked. "Grant them the immunity they deserve, after everything they've been through. Have you seen what's happened to this family as a result of government incompetence? Lincoln Burrows' life has been threatened countless times, in and out of prison. His son, LJ, watched his mother and stepfather murdered right in front of him—and then was accused of their murders. Dr. Tancredi lost her career and her father, not to mention almost losing her life and her baby.

"And I haven't even gotten to the man who has sacrificed the most: Michael Scofield. Did you know that before all of this began, he was a successful structural engineer who spent his free time assisting troubled youth in Chicago? Now, what's become of him? Physically, he's a wreck. He's lost two toes, his torso is covered in scars from the tattoo, and his hands are scarred, too, from the electrical burns. He's sustained a brain tumor that the company failed to remove as promised."

"That's all self-inflicted," Richard said.

"Because the government didn't do its job. Michael _had_ to save his brother and his wife from wrongful death. He alone is responsible for the bulk of evidence we have against the company, no thanks to the government."

"Scofield's also responsible for bringing Scylla to the UN and fixing it when it had a glitch," Todd added.

"Yes!" Blue's nods were rapid-fire. "Yet instead of rewarding him for these herculean efforts, you try to lock him away in super-max? That's a travesty. I demand you grant my clients immunity."

"Pretty soon you'll demand they get restitution from the government as well," Richard scoffed.

"I'd fight for that, too," Blue said, "but Governor Tancredi's estate will be enough for them to live comfortably. The Scofields don't need money, and that's why I'm not asking for it. What they do need is freedom. And only you can guarantee that, Madame District Attorney. Only you."

Cécile's jade-green eyes pierced into him.

~~ o*o ~~

Once they entered the hallway, Felicia whipped out a pair of handcuffs and restrained Alex's hands behind his back. "Turnabout's fair play," she whispered in his ear.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

She grinned. "What Agent Wheatley told me to do. I'm 'taking care' of you."

"So the cuffs are a ruse? You'll pretend I'm your prisoner, then remove them once we get out of here?"

Her breasts pressed against him. "Who said I'll _remove_ the cuffs?"

A flicker of excitement pulsed up his spine.

Her voice picked up volume as she pushed him forward. "Let's go, con."

Alex stiffened when they rounded the corner. "It's Sullens!" he hissed.

To their left was an empty interrogation room. She shoved Alex inside seconds before Richard Sullens strode past, trailed by a few agents.

They stood inside the door, panting in the darkened room.

"Don't think he saw you," she said.

"He doesn't like me very much." His head sagged.

"Yeah, Sullens hails from Internal Affairs. He isn't a fan of letting agents get away with murder."

Alex lifted his gaze, surprised by her directness. The metal cuffs bit into his wrists. "You shouldn't be my fan, either. I _am_ a murderer, Lish. I don't deserve your loyalty."

"You probably don't," she agreed with a slight smile. "But I can't stay away. I feel . . . _drawn_ to you. We've been through a lot together, I guess. And once we smuggle you out of here, you're a free man."

"I don't deserve to be free. You should turn me over to Sullens. I should pay for my crimes."

"You _have_ paid! The time you spent in that hellhole Sona—that was like a life sentence in American prison. But your penance goes way beyond doing time." She leaned in, and he felt her warm breath on his cheek. "You lost your wife and son."

He looked down into her warm brown eyes, feeling a rush of emotion tightening his throat. "Cammy . . ."

Wrapping her arms around him, she could feel the raised welts and scars on his back through his shirt. "You've already paid," she murmured against his chest as she clutched onto him.

He kept upright only by leaning into the steady woman holding him together.

~~ o*o ~~

Sucre double-checked the number on the high-rise apartment door with the scrap of paper in his hand, given to him earlier by Michael. He knocked. "LJ!" he called. "You in there?"

When his knocks went unanswered, he frowned. "It's Sucre . . . remember? We met in Costa Rica?" He thought he heard some noise inside and pressed his ear to the door. "Linc and Michael sent me to check on you."

The door opened a crack, but the chain was still latched. A crystal-blue eye peered out, making Sucre grin. That eye could've easily belonged to Michael.

LJ asked, "How do I know you're legit?"

Sucre sighed—the kid had been through way too much at his age. He tried to remember their meeting in Puerto Limón, but was coming up blank. "C'mon LJ, I was your uncle's cellie. You can trust me."

"What'd you say about the boat in the warehouse? The boat Aunt Sara and Uncle Mike stayed on?"

Sucre rubbed his bald head as he blinked, then grinned. "Ooh, ooh, got it. When the boat's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."

The door opened in an instant. "Where's my dad?"

Sucre looked past LJ to find a tall blond boy staring back at him. He entered and locked the door behind him. "At FBI headquarters. Your aunt and uncle are there, too."

"They are?" LJ shrunk back.

"Who're you?" asked Ben.

"Fernando Sucre."

LJ explained, "He escaped from Fox River along with my dad and uncle."

Sucre looked him over. "You're the doc's kid?"

"Yeah. I'm Ben."

Noticing their uneasy expressions, Sucre did a reconnaissance of the apartment. "Any signs of the company?"

"No," LJ answered.

Ben added, "We want to visit my mom but the FBI told us to stay away from the hospital."

Sucre squinted. "Didn't the feds try to protect you? Keep you somewhere?"

"Yeah." LJ squirmed. "Uh, we sort of escaped."

"You _escaped?"_ Sucre laughed.

"We didn't want those asshats in control of us. They don't care about us, anyway. They only care about Uncle Mike."

Sucre's smile vanished. "I hope that's true."

~~ o*o ~~

Lincoln popped off his chair the moment the door opened. Once he saw Todd, he growled, "About time, Wheatley—" but stopped short when three more people entered the room.

"Blue." Michael felt relieved to see his attorney in the group.

"Michael, Sara, Lincoln." Blue nodded at each of them, his black eyes revealing nothing.

Todd approached Michael's chair and unlocked his handcuff. "Stand up to meet Director Sullens and District Attorney Cécile Montrachet."

Michael rose, his calm façade hiding his thumping heart and clenching stomach. He supposed the time had come to return to prison.

When Todd unlocked Sara's handcuffs, Michael went to stand behind her chair. He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Stay seated, Sara."

She savored his warm touch on her skin, hoping it wouldn't be the last time he could touch her. Hoping a long prison stretch wouldn't keep them apart.

Lincoln joined them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother. The three faced Richard and Cécile.

Richard nodded. "So here's the infamous Michael Scofield. You gave us quite the run."

He said nothing.

Cécile pressed her lips together. "Dr. Tancredi, we've discussed your situation with your attorney. I've decided there's insufficient evidence to proceed with the prosecution." Sara's eyes widened as Cécile pushed a legal document across the table. "Provided you never disclose the details of your incarceration or escape, we're dropping all charges."

"With immunity from further prosecution," Blue added with a grin.

"I'm free?" Her jaw unhinged. Michael squeezed her shoulders.

"Thank God." He closed his eyes. "You'll be safe."

"Michael," Sara blurted, searching the eyes of the prosecutor. "What about him?"

Cécile paused. "I learned a lot about you today, Mr. Scofield. The lengths you've gone to save your family . . . well, they're astounding, _incroyable._ You are an extraordinary man. We believe you and your family have already paid for your crimes. Therefore, once you sign these documents, you'll have immunity from prosecution as well."

Michael didn't move, didn't breathe.

"My brother's a free man?" Lincoln asked.

"He's free," Todd confirmed.

"Fuck, yeah!" Lincoln grabbed Michael in a bear hug and thumped him on the back.

Still dazed, Michael stepped out of the hug and knelt by his wife. His wife. His free wife. And their free baby. "Sara . . ."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. His hand curled around the back of her neck and drew her into him, planting a kiss on her lips that was somehow gentle, fierce, desperate, and celebratory all at once. Her body racked with sobs as they clung to each other, trembling with a soaring crescendo of relief and elation.

Lincoln remembered that airport hangar right before Michael left to save Sara. Then, Michael had said _"It's not my first time inside a prison. But hopefully, it will be my last."_

His hope had come true. Their faith had borne fruit. The government that had almost destroyed them was now granting them clemency. The man who had carried the weight of his brother and the world on his back was now free of that burden.

As Michael and Sara reviewed the documents with Blue, Todd explained, "Immunity means you won't be arrested once you leave here, unlike last time." He winced. "Sorry I had to interrupt your wedding reception."

"We'll just have another one," Michael said. "And this time you're not invited, Todd."

"Fair enough." Todd winked.

Sara tapped her chin. "And we'll need a proper honeymoon, too."

"With a filet mignon dinner," Michael promised, leaning in to brush his lips on her cheek.

They were free.

 _there goes my pain_  
 _there goes my chains_  
 _did you see them fall_

 _there goes the world off of my shoulders_  
 _there goes the world off of my back_  
 _there it goes_

"Quasimodo" by Lifehouse


	38. Dream

Last chapter, baby! I'm impressed you made it this far-thanks so much for reading. I'm happy to have made some new friends here. (Prison Break fans rock.) I know we all hope for an amazing season five.

Cheers, Jennifer Lane

38\. Dream

The thwack of hammers filled the air.

"Is this right, Dad?"

Lincoln stopped his hammer midair to look at the position of the nail on the two-by-four. The spray of bullet holes left by the company agent Bolo had forced them to tear down most of the kitchen wall in the Puerto Limón bungalow, and now he and LJ were charged with making repairs.

"Yeah. You're doing great." Lincoln ruffled his hair, eliciting a blush from LJ.

When the younger Burrows resumed his hammering, the older Burrows felt hammered by relief. They'd come so far. They'd made it.

His mind drifted back to Fox River, sitting in that damn final visitation room and clutching the phone to his ear. He'd curled up on the windowsill and tried to figure out how to say goodbye to his son without crying. LJ hadn't made it easy.

" _I had a dream last night. You and me were working on a house, pounding nails, and, uh, in the dream it felt like we were older. It was so clear, the whole dream. And when I woke, I knew that today wasn't going to be the end, that . . . that we'll see each other again, Dad. I know it. I love you, Dad."_

His son had never lost faith. There'd been times when Lincoln had given up, but never LJ. Just like Michael, he'd kept the faith.

~~ o*o ~~

Sara watched Karina and Ben meander down the shoreline away from her. She sat on the grainy sand and shivered from the cool December breezes. An origami rose twirled in her fingers.

The rose had awaited them when they'd arrived last night on a chartered flight from Miami. She and Michael had laughed at the sloppy, makeshift origami they'd found in the mailbox—it was obvious Lincoln had made it for him. But she'd known Michael had asked him to make it, and his thoughtfulness meant so much. She drew the paper rose to her face and skimmed it across her lips, smiling as she inhaled salty sea air.

"Let's see if this one smells any better."

She hadn't heard Michael approach, and she turned to him with a grin. He clutched a fresh origami rose that had structural engineer written all over its impeccable construction.

"So _that's_ what this was about—getting me my rose back."

He settled in behind and straddled her. "Yeah I guess I'm done now. I can retire."

She chuckled as she gazed at the roiling ocean. "You've certainly chosen a lovely location for your retirement, Mr. Scofield."

He swept his hand across the vast expanse of nature. "The ocean . . ."

". . . _is_ your back yard," they finished together, breaking into bright grins.

She leaned back into his chest. "You can do origami now? Your hands . . .?"

"It's actually good rehabilitation." He flexed his hands, stretching the burned skin taut over fine bones. "I'll probably make more roses for you in the future—be prepared."

"Maybe you can fold some origami for the peanut? Know how to make any origami airplanes? Lizards? Skyscrapers?"

His eyes lit up. "Not yet, but I'll enjoy the challenge."

"I'm sure you will." Her head nuzzled into his chest. "You're always up for a challenge."

He pressed a kiss to her hair.

"So _that's_ where you were—off making a rose," she said. "You can't just wander off like that, you know. We were missing you. The peanut needs you."

A hint of worry crept into his voice. "The amniocentesis said the baby's doing better, right?"

"Yes. He's fine."

He gave her belly a gentle squeeze. "So your worry for the baby is basically a ploy to get me to stay glued by your side."

She giggled. "Basically."

Michael nudged in to plant a soft kiss on her jawline, then whispered in her ear, "I'll never leave you, Sara."

Exhaling deeply, she melted into him.

His voice was full of wonder. "I can't believe we're having a boy."

"Me, neither."

"Have you thought about potential names?" He smirked. "We could stick with what we've got, but I'm thinking _Peanut Scofield_ will get teased like no tomorrow."

She tilted her head. "I _have_ thought of a name." She paused. "Michael. Michael Scofield, Junior."

"MJ, huh?"

She felt him tense behind her. "You don't like it?"

"No, it's . . ." He exhaled. "I'm honored you want to name our son after me. I am. It's just . . . that name carries a lot of baggage, Sara." He swallowed. "Michael Scofield's been through a lot . . . a lot of bad things. I don't want our son to experience that pain."

"Oh." She nodded. "I didn't see it that way, but that makes sense."

He smoothed one hand over her auburn hair. "How did you see it?"

"I feel so much love and affection for the peanut already. But I don't know if I can ever love this baby as much as I love his father."

"Oh, Sara." He held her tight.

Her voice trembled. "I wanted to name him Michael, because it's a name I love. It's the man I love."

He tucked her into him. "If it means that much to you, we can do it. We can name our son Michael. I just need some time to wrap my mind around it."

"But I want to name him together." She sighed. "We'll think of something. We have four months."

" _If_ Michael's on time," he warned.

She squinted. "Oh! If the _baby's_ on time." She grinned. "I'm already mixing you two up. Maybe we should give him another name."

They rocked together as they studied the rollicking waves. Sara's hands folded over Michael's hands, which cradled her bulging belly with the utmost care. The hammering at the house had stopped, and the only sound was the pounding surf.

"It's so peaceful here," Sara murmured. "You picked a great spot for us."

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

"I didn't like it so much when I first got here, I have to admit."

"Why's that?"

Her eyes turned down. "You weren't here. We thought . . . we thought we'd lost you. Forever."

"I'm so sorry."

She took his burned hands in hers, turning and examining the scarred flesh. "The video you made, Michael . . . it was heartbreaking. I couldn't bear to think about our baby never getting to know his father."

"I'm sorry," he rasped again.

"You wanted me to tell our child that he's loved, to remind him everyday how lucky he is to be free." She drew his long fingers up to her mouth and kissed them. "But now you'll be able to tell him those things yourself."

"Thank God."

"In your video, you said we were free. But we weren't, Michael. We weren't free. Lincoln and I were on the run, and you were supposedly dead."

He drew in a long breath and nodded. "Guess that was selfish of me. You and Linc weren't free, but maybe I thought _I_ was finally free."

"Free of what?"

"Not sure." He sighed. "I was tired . . . I didn't know another way out. I only knew I had to save you and the baby. I couldn't let you pay for all of my mistakes."

Sara's throat burned with impending tears. "Your life's been full of suffering. I don't want you to suffer any more."

He nestled his nose into her hair and rested his chin on her shoulder. "You've suffered, too."

They stayed like that for several minutes, clinging onto each other with their eyes shut.

"I'm so thankful I found you." A few of her tears squeezed out. "My eight-toed wonder."

"And I'm so lucky you were my doctor. Grateful you left that infirmary door unlocked." He kissed her cheek. "Linc's grateful, too."

"Do you know how your brother reacted after we watched your goodbye video?"

"Uh . . . with violence?"

"He whipped the remote control against the cabin wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces."

Michael suppressed a grin. "Sounds 'bout right." After a beat, he looked down. "Linc told me I'll be a better father than our dad was to us."

"You _will_ be a wonderful father."

He fidgeted. "How do you know?"

"Because I know you. I know the kind of man you are. And you promised you'd be the most prepared father ever, remember?"

He nodded. "I need to get back to my reading soon."

Scooting around, she faced him and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you've only finished five parenting books this week, boy scout."

His head angled to one side. "Wonder if we should put Michael in the Boy Scouts?"

"I don't know. Were you in the Boy Scouts?"

"No." He averted his eyes.

She took his hands in hers once again. "I guess it'd be tough for a foster kid to be in the Boy Scouts?"

His eyes darting back to hers, he nodded. There was a moment of silence between them.

"Lincoln told me," she whispered. "He told me about your foster father."

Watching his face fall, she reached up to smooth a hand down his cheek. "It's okay, honey. It wasn't your fault."

He swallowed hard, unable to look away. "How can you . . ." He cleared his throat to try to stop his voice from shaking. "How can you know that about me, and still, still think I'll be a good father?"

Sara held his face in his hands. "Some perpetuate the cycle of abuse, but not you. You'll never hurt our son. You fight for the underdog, and you care for your family more than anyone. Trust me on this, Michael. I _know_ you."

He found nothing but honesty and admiration in her brown eyes. He drew her onto his lap. Leaning forward, he closed his eyes as they kissed. Tension drained from his shoulders when their kiss deepened. He smiled as he whispered, "You're an excellent healer, Dr. Tancredi."

Sara let go of him and pushed his back into the sand. "That's Dr. Scofield." She crawled on him and leaned down for more kisses while skating her hands over his closely cropped hair.

"It's official," he agreed.

They moved together on the fine, grainy sand, creating new memories.

~~ o*o ~~

"Can I help?" Ben asked.

Lincoln eyed the lanky, sandy-haired teenager. "About time you got your butt over here and did some work. LJ, show him what to do."

LJ guided Ben through the finer points of drywall, while Lincoln took Karina's hand. He nodded at her collarbone. "How're you feeling, Kar?"

"Barely feel the scar today."

He exhaled. His voice lowered. "I was, uh, a little worried, after last night . . ."

Her cheeks flamed as she recalled their evening. She didn't know which couple was louder—she and Lincoln or Sara and Michael—but she did know she was grateful for the separate wing housing the boys' bedroom.

She ignored her wobbly knees. "Good thing my doctor told me I needed a peaceful place to rest and recover. It's beautiful here, Linc."

His blue eyes bore into her. "We wouldn't have come down here without you."

He guided her to the patio, where they lounged on deck chairs. Sara and Michael were further down the beach, not visible from the bungalow.

"Looks like you're making good progress on repairing the wall?"

"Yeah." Lincoln frowned. "We can't have that company tool leaving his mark on our new home."

Karina gazed out at the ocean. "You and LJ plan to live here, then?"

"Dunno." His tongue darted out to sweep across his lower lip. "Michael wants to stay here for at least a few weeks, then figure things out from there. How long can you stay?"

"Ben's school's back in session January third . . . so I guess we'll have to return to Miami before then."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Miami's a good city."

She listened to the cries of seagulls in the distance. "You probably want to go wherever your brother goes, hmm?"

"Yeah, but I want to get LJ settled somewhere solid, too."

"Of course." Her hands twisted in her lap. "Are you thinking Chicago?"

"Not right now. Too many bad memories." His chest squeezed when his thoughts drifted to Veronica. He was fairly certain LJ didn't want to return to the site of his mother's death, nor did Michael want to be anywhere near Fox River. "Michael did say he wants to be back in the states for his son's birth. He doesn't want to take any risks."

Karina nodded. "If there's anything I can do to help . . ."

"We, uh, Michael and I, we actually talked about living in Miami." He gave her a sideways glance. "If that's okay with you and Ben?"

" _Okay_ with me? That'd be _wonderful_ with me!"

He popped out of his chair, drew her to her feet, and wrapped her in a crushing embrace.

"Linc!" she squeaked.

He jumped back, eyes wide. "The gunshot wound! Sorry 'bout that. Got a little carried away."

She giggled. "Can we try again, more gently this time?"

He cradled the back of her head and planted a tender, lush kiss on her lips.

Her heart pounded as his scratchy skin brushed her cheek. She sagged against him, feeling so safe and loved in his strong arms.

They kept holding each other, warming their bodies in the cool Caribbean air. "Linc? You sure you want to be with me? You're not saying that out of . . . out of guilt?"

He pulled back with a frown. " _Guilt?_ No way. I've got guilt for things I've done—for people I've hurt—but I don't feel that way for you, babe. You're the only good thing that's happened to me since this mess began. I _want_ you in my life." He nodded. "I want you in LJ's life. And we all know Ben needs a dad, if he'll take me. When we get to that point, of course."

He leaned in for another kiss.

"Besides . . ." He smirked. "Every time it was freaking minus ten in Chicago, freezing my balls off, I'd dream about palm trees and sun."

"Well we wouldn't want your balls to freeze off."

~~ o*o ~~

"Oye!" Sucre called. "We're home!"

He carried a grocery bag into the kitchen but stopped short once he noticed Lincoln, LJ, and Ben making finishing touches on the drywall.

"Hijole—you guys are fast!"

Maricruz followed him in, balancing a sleeping Lila and a few pieces of mail.

"Did you get it?" Lincoln stuck his nose into the bag.

"Do you know how far we had to drive?" Sucre scowled. "The guy at the hotel gave us crappy directions, but we finally found it."

Lincoln grinned. "I'll fire up the grill."

"Dad, should we start painting?" LJ asked.

"Nah, let's wait till tomorrow. A storm's coming so we'll probably have to eat inside—don't want the fumes interfering with dinner."

"What are we supposed to do now?" Ben asked.

"Yeah, Dad—there's nothing to do here."

Lincoln looked at the crashing waves. "What're you talking about, 'nothing to do'? Get out there and catch some waves, guys! Right before a storm's the perfect time!"

The boys rushed to their bedroom to change into wetsuits.

"Be careful!" Karina hollered from the other room, where she was reading medical journals.

Two hours later, Lincoln's prediction had come true. Buffeting winds and pelting rains assaulted the beach house. All were safe inside, however, enjoying a dinner by candlelight.

Feeding a bite of filet mignon to his wife, Michael's eyebrow arched. "Told you I'd take you to dinner, when I got out of there, _alive_."

Sara shook her head as she chewed. "Fernando bought this. Still doesn't count, Scofield."

"What! When will you ever stop nagging me, woman?"

They shared a devious smile.

"Never thought I'd live to eat steak again," LJ said, popping a bite in his mouth.

"Those waves were _huge!"_ Ben agreed, his shaggy hair still wet from the ocean. "I almost died like five times out there."

Lincoln laughed at Karina's look of alarm. "They'll be fine, Kar."

"I'm so glad Ben has a friend egging him on to risk his life."

Maricruz turned to her husband. "My Fernando never did risky stuff like that when he was a teenager, did you, sweetie?"

"Uh . . ." Sucre glanced around the kitchen, remembering multiple shenanigans with his cousins but not wanting to put any ideas into LJ's head. "Hey! The mail! We forgot to give it to you."

He leapt out of his chair and handed Michael the couple pieces of mail that he'd left on the counter. Michael frowned at the advertisement on top. "I thought we'd avoid junk mail in Costa Rica." Shuffling to the next envelope, his expression lightened. "We got a letter from Henry."

"We did?" Sara leaned in.

LJ explained to Ben, "That was the warden at Fox River."

Michael opened the letter, scanned a few lines, then decided to read aloud.

 _Dear Michael,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. I got your address from Alex Mahone, who told me you're free! I couldn't be more relieved for you and your family. It's been an incredible journey, and I'm so grateful you survived. As you know, I'm a big believer in rehabilitation. You now have the opportunity to start life anew, strengthened by what has come before you and optimistic about what remains ahead._

 _Michael, I can't stop thinking about what you told me in the hospital. I'm quite saddened by the death of your father. Despite the lack of fatherly influence, you and Lincoln have become such fine men. I'm immensely proud of you both. It's also tragic that Dr. Tancredi lost her father in this mess. I'm struck by how much has been stolen away from your family, unfairly and inconsolably._

 _I think about the little baby growing in Dr. Tancredi's womb, and I don't want that child to suffer losses like the parents have. So, if you'll have me, I'd like to offer my services as a grandfather. Actually, if you'll have both of us as grandparents, Judy makes a mean apple pie that your children could enjoy someday (my growing midsection is testament to this!)_

 _If you'd rather not have reminders of Fox River in your new life, I completely understand. But I wanted to extend this offer, as a means of_ _ **giving**_ _you something, after so much has been taken away. You deserve peace and love and joy in your life, nothing less._

 _Take care and God bless,_

 _Henry_

 _P.S. Give Dr. Tancredi a kiss for me. I'm sure Fox River is missing her competence and compassion._

Michael looked up from reading the letter to find tears spilling down Sara's cheeks. He reached out to her, and she placed his hand on her bump.

She asked, "What about naming the baby Henry Fernando Scofield?"

His eyes widened at first, but when Sucre beamed at him, he nodded. "That's beautiful—I love it." Thinking for a moment, he added, "Or, we could name him Henry Alexander Scofield. Then, for our second son, we'll name him Fernando Michael Scofield."

"A _second_ son?" Sara's jaw lowered. "Let's get through _this_ baby first."

They chuckled, and a warm glow spread throughout the room. Michael gazed at each guest as he marveled at the turn of events in his life. Before Fox River, his life had been empty. Now, he had a wife, child, brother, and best friend.

He rested his crystal-blue eyes on the mother of his child, and she smiled back at him, her face glistening with the tracks of her tears. The nightmare had ended, and now they would share the dream. _Together._

~~ o*o ~~

After the storm had passed through and dinner dishes had been washed, Michael went looking for his brother. He found him out back on the patio, gazing at the kaleidoscope of colors left behind by the storm. The setting sun illuminated the brilliant oranges and pinks that hovered over the calm sea.

"Hey," he murmured as he sidled next to his brother.

Lincoln rocked back and forth on his heels with his fists jammed into his jean pockets. "Hey."

They stared at the seascape, needing no words to describe the long road they'd taken—the dreams that had died, the dreams that had begun.

Lincoln broke the silence. "You kept the faith, Michael."

He nodded, then stepped forward into Lincoln's waiting embrace.

 _Well I had a dream  
I stood beneath an orange sky  
Yes I had a dream  
I stood beneath an orange sky  
With my brother standing by  
With my brother standing by  
I said Brother, you know you know  
It's a long road we've been walking on_

 _Orange Sky,_ Alexi Murdoch

~~ THE END ~~


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